


Five Dates and a Question

by eragon19



Series: More Than We Bargained For [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Fingering, First Dates, First Time, Fluff, John's dress uniform, Kisses, M/M, Making Up, Misunderstandings, Sherlock's Violin, Smut, Top Sherlock, Violin Music, a case, amazing cake, hands jobs, jewerly exhibits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-12 01:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eragon19/pseuds/eragon19
Summary: *Sequel to The Chauffeur and The Consultant*After Sherlock's almost wedding, he and John take things slow. Well, as slow as they possibly can.





	1. The First Date

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Lynn for being an amazing beta. I hope you enjoy the sequel!

**The First Date**

John stared into his closet,trying to figure out what the hell to wear. His date with Sherlock was in two hours and John’s head was still spinning from the events of the day. He’d expected today to turn out like any other job; pick up the client, monotonous chatter, drop them off, then head back to the rental offices. Instead he’d helped Sherlock ditch his wedding, whisked him away on an impromptu tour of London’s sights, caught a thief  and then had a fantastic snog in a park. John smiled as he remembered Sherlock’s wet parted lips and wide eyes as John lay under him in the grass. He found himself wondering if he’d be under the man again at the end of the night. The thought made warmth pool low in his gut as he wondered just what Sherlock looked like under that morning suit. From what he’d seen so far it would be _delicious_ .

A slow smile spread across John’s face before he caught himself. He shook the thoughts from his head, he was taking it slow damn it! The thought sobered him slightly as he pulled a dark blue jumper off it’s hanger and found a pair of khaki slacks to go with it.

Sherlock had told him this was more than a rebound, that it felt special to him too, but was he sure? John had been in rebound relationships before and he knew they could feel like something special  was there before reality set in. Sherlock was taking John on a date the same day he’d walked out on his _wedding_ .  This could be nothing more than the ultimate of rebounds, in fact, logic told John it most likely was. No matter how terrible Sherlock’s husband-to-be had been, walking out from such a large commitment would take it’s toll. When would reality set in for Sherlock? Would it be when John was in too deep? He already knew he was, Sherlock was _mesmerizing_.

Stomach churning, John picked up his mobile and stared at it, wondering if he should call and cancel.

_“Do you think I don’t know my own emotions?”_

Sherlock words from earlier that day and the conviction with which he’d said them came back to him. John licked his lips and turned the phone over and over in his hand, going over their day together, struggling to figure out if this would lead to what John wanted to happen, or heartbreak.

_“I-I feel the same way you do.”_

Nodding to himself, John put his moblie down and tugged on his trousers. John Watson was many things but a coward wasn’t one of them. Sherlock was one of the only people John had felt connected to since he’d come home, and the only way to find out if this would work or blow up in his face would be to _try_.

Brushing his hair, and tugging his jumper straight he gave himself a once over in the mirror. Not bad, in fact pretty good if he was being honest. Smiling, he headed out the door, ignoring the slight limp that marred his steps.  


***

The cab pulled up outside Angelo’s and John smiled at the sight of Sherlock waiting outside for him. The man was leaning against the wall outside the restaurant, one foot propped on the wall behind him and his eyes glued to his phone. He was wearing one of the most dramatic coats John had ever seen;  long and elegantly cut, that fitted him perfectly. The coat was unbuttoned, giving John a perfect view of the sharply cut suit and purple shirt underneath.

John licked his lips, he’d thought the morning suit had been a treat; this was a million times better. The man looked like a bloody model and John knew he was in trouble.

 Sherlock’s head snapped up as John slid out of the cab and made his way over, his gait only slightly uneven. He hoped Sherlock wouldn’t ask about it. Nothing ruined a first date like bringing up, and having to explain his leg. Luckily, Sherlock didn’t seem to notice. He beamed at John and pushed off of the wall, pocketing his phone.

 “Have you been waiting long?” John asked, standing in front of the detective.

 “Not at all. I had Angelo hold a table and came out for a bit of air.”

 They stood awkwardly for a moment, John was uncertain whether he should hug the man hello, or give him a kiss. It was odd considering he’d had his tongue in Sherlock’s mouth no less than seven hours ago.

 “Shall we go in?” Sherlock asked, mercifully breaking the silence.

 John nodded, “Yeah, I’m starving actually.”

 Sherlock smiled and opened the door for him, gesturing John through.

 Inside proved to be a lovely, if slightly shabby Italian restaurant. They were given a booth near the window by Angelo himself, and John had the pleasure of watching Sherlock slide that gorgeous coat off his even more gorgeous body.

 “This man got me off a murder charge you know!” Angelo said, bustling around and handing them menus.

 John grinned at the embarrassed look on Sherlock’s face, “Really?” he asked, cracking open the menu and giving Sherlock a slow smile.

 “Yes, you see Angelo was breaking into a house at the time of the murder, so there was no way he could have-

 “I’ve turned my life around since then,” Angelo cut in, giving Sherlock a hard pat on the shoulder that jostled him into the table. “Married the Missus, opened an honest business, and it’s all thanks to this man!”

 He gave Sherlock another hard slap to the shoulder that nearly sent him sprawling out of his chair, and had John smothering a laugh in his water glass.

 “I’ll be back to take your orders, on the house as usual,” he said, placing a candle on the table and giving John a wink.

 Sherlock meanwhile was fiddling with his silverware, clearly impatient for Angelo to be gone.

 “So, tell me about the case?” John asked, once Angelo had hurried off to another table, “Angelo’s case I mean.”

 “Oh that, _that_ one’s boring.” Sherlock said dismissively, sitting back in his chair and stretching his legs out under the table. John felt the smooth leather of Sherlock’s Oxford brush against his ankle.

 “A really interesting one would be the orphan girl’s tiara. Would you like to hear about it?”

 John smiled and let his own foot press against the length of Sherlock’s, “Go on then, let’s hear it.”

 Sherlock smiled lazily at him and launched into the tale.

 

***

 

John laughed, a ravioli speared on his fork as he listened to Sherlock’s story.

 “So you tossed him in the pig pen? Seriously?” he asked, before taking a sip of wine.

 “It was self defence John, besides the pigs seemed far more put out than he did.”

 “Can’t blame them, you _did_ throw a murderer into their home.”

 “Attempted murderer, John. _Attempted_.”

John burst out laughing again, and Sherlock followed, his deep chuckles made John smile wider.

 Sherlock looked incredibly handsome in the candle-light. His eyes sparkled, and the sharp angles of his face were deepened and highlighted by the flickering flame. That, coupled with the sardonic edge to his laughter, gave him a shadowed, almost dangerous look, and John found his mouth far drier than it should be.

It didn’t help matters that Sherlock’s shoe was gently tracing patterns over the sides of John’s lower calf, occasionally slipping lower to rub against the thin sock covering his ankle.

 Not wanting to be out done, John reached across the table and took Sherlock’s hand lightly in his own, curling his fingers around the longer digits. Sherlock smiled at him, the tip of his shoe softly gliding over John’s ankle and sending a _zing_ of pleasure up his leg.

 “So did you ever find the missing tiara?” John asked, amazed a point had reached in his life where he was seriously asking such a question.

 “Of course, it was right where I’d said it would be,” Sherlock said smugly, his lips curving into a delectable smirk.

 “Of course it was,” John said, his voice low as his thumb caressed Sherlock’s knuckles.

 Their eyes locked and John felt the same pull he felt throughout their entire day together. Sherlock’s tongue peeked out to wet his lower lip, and John found himself mirroring the gesture. He swallowed when Sherlock’s eyes darkened.

 “Care for dessert John?” Sherlock asked, his voice a deep rumble.

 John blinked at him a moment, “I- what?”

 “Dessert. There’s a great little place not too far from here that does an amazing German Chocolate cake, if you’re interested.”

 Sherlock’s tone was considerably lighter, but his eyes were still dark with intent, and clearly said that there was much more than cake being offered. John’s stomach flipped with anticipation, as thoughts of eating cake of that tight body flooded his mind. He _needed_ to keep it together...

 “Of course, yeah. Let’s go,” John said, giving Sherlock’s fingers squeeze before letting go.

 Sherlock grinned and gestured Angelo over, “Don’t tell him we’re going somewhere else for dessert, he’ll never forgive me,” he whispered with a wink.

 John smothered his chuckle as Angelo came over to tell them good-bye, his eyes tracing the long, enticing line of Sherlock’s neck as the man looked up at Angelo.

 Soon, they were out on the road again, wrapped up against the chill. As they walked, John was pleased to find his stride was smooth. The lack of his limp, coupled with a handsome man taking him for dessert, put a spring in John’s step. He could feel Sherlock eying him, and turned to give him a smile.

 “I’m glad your therapy is helping John,” Sherlock said as they waited to cross the road.

 John gaped at him as the light changed and Sherlock began to cross. The man was half way across the street before John followed, jogging to catch up.

 “How do you know about the therapy?” John asked, bewildered.

 Sherlock looked at him nervously out of the corner of his eyes. He buttoned his coat and stuffed his hands in the pockets, and John could almost see his walls start to come up.

 “No, I honestly want to know. Tell me?”

 Sherlock swallowed, then squared his shoulders and stared straight ahead as he began speaking.

 “You were limping when you got out of the cab today, it’s the first time I’ve seen you limp since we met. It could have been due to fatigue, it _has_ been a long day, but you were fine even after you spent all day driving, and walking around London with me. Also, you were perfectly content to chat with me outside the restaurant, if your limp had been bothering you, you would have asked to go inside so we could sit. You’d forgotten about it once you relaxed, so it’s not due to a physical injury. Therefore the only logical explanation is a psychosomatic limp brought on by stress, and a recently returned army doctor with a psychosomatic limp is _bound_ to have a therapist.”

 John blinked at him a moment. That deduction had been even more mind blowing than the first one. This man- this man was _amazing_.

 Sherlock was still staring straight ahead, his shoulders tense. He was obviously waiting for John to scoff or start shouting.

 Well, that wouldn’t do _at all_ ….

 Smiling wide, John caught him by the elbow and turned Sherlock to face him.

 “Sherlock that was brilliant. Honestly, it was _amazing_.”

 Sherlock’s cheeks turned pink, his nervous expression morphing into a smile. John smiled back and reached up to cup a hand around Sherlock’s cheek, his thumb stroking over a sharp cheekbone. Sherlock inched closer, herding John against the side of the building they’d been walking passed.

 “Did you really think so, John?” Sherlock whispered, his breath ghosting over John face.

 John licked his lips and nodded, “I told you so in the limo, didn’t I?” he said, sliding his hands under Sherlock’s coat and curling them around his hips.

 “Mmm, yes you did.”

 Sherlock’s own hands landed on John’s shoulders before lightly running up the back of his neck to cradle his head, acting as a barrier from the rough brick. The delicate scratching of his fingernails over John’s scalp made John shiver.

 “Say it again for me?’ Sherlock purred, dipping his head so his lips were just an inch from John’s.

 Warmth spread through John, starting from deep in his belly and pooling outward to his finger tips and toes. He slid his hands over the sleek fabric of Sherlock’s jacket up to his shoulder blades, enjoying the way they flexed under his hands.

 “Brilliant bo-

 Suddenly, Sherlock was jostled hard from behind, causing him to stumble and tread hard on John’s toes. John cringed and twisted away, the movement dragging Sherlock’s hand hard against the brick, making him flinch.

 Sherlock pulled away, whipping around to glare at whoever had knocked into him. The man was chatting away on his mobile, ignorant of the moment he’d just ruined. John huffed in irritation, his toes throbbing. Sherlock turned back to him, the annoyance radiating off of him easing somewhat as he looked at John.

 “Are you alright?” he asked, glancing down at John’s foot.

 John nodded, “How about your hand?”

 Sherlock glanced absentmindedly at it.

 “It’s fine.”

 “Mind if I see?”

 Sherlock reluctantly held out his hand, and John gently took it in his own. Cradling it, he marveled at the large palm and long, thin fingers with their neatly trimmed nails. His hand dwarfed John’s, the doctor’s finger tips just brushing the highest joints of Sherlock’s fingers. John loved a man with good hands, and Sherlock’s were just that; big and masculine the way John liked.

 “Do you play an instrument?” he asked, brushing his thumb over a callus on Sherlock’s left ring finger.

 “Violin. How’d you know?” Sherlock said, his voice intimate.

 “I deduced it.”

 With that he leaned up and pressed a quick, hard  kiss to Sherlock's jaw, just above his scarf.

 Sherlock froze and John heard his quick, sharp intake of breath. He quickly stepped out from between the man and the wall. A part of him wanted to play a little, to tease and taunt before finally making a move, or have himself be moved _on_. The other part of him wanted to pull Sherlock tight against him and snog him senseless.

 Sherlock blinked at him, and John felt a roguish grin spread over his face.

 “So, how about that cake then?”

 

***

 

Sat in the cab, his belly full of the best cake he’d ever eaten and Sherlock’s long thigh pressed against his own, John Watson was in a quandary.

He wanted to invite Sherlock up to his room, peel the suit of him and find out what made him him _moan._ He also wanted to curl up in bed, process the insane day he’d had and sleep for five years.

 John knew for sure option one was out of the question. He’d just met Sherlock _today,_ and what he’d said in the park was true. This felt special, and he didn’t want to rush it and fuck it up.

 There was also the small fact that he hadn’t slept with anyone since he’d come home, and answering the questions Sherlock was bound to have about the mess of his shoulder wasn’t something he felt up to to dealing with tonight. The thought turned his mood somber.

 Just then, the cab pulled up outside his bedsit, and Sherlock was sliding out, holding open the door for him. John smiled in thanks and hopped out, tugging his jumper straight as Sherlock told the driver to wait.

 “I had a marvelous time tonight, John. Thank you,” Sherlock said, smiling at him.

 “It’s I who should be thanking you, Sherlock. That cake changed me.” John replied, stuffing his worries off to the side.

 “It was the least I could do after- well after everything you did for me today.”

 John smiled softly at him. Fuck his fears, this man needed a kiss!

 Rocking up onto his tiptoes, he pressed his lips firmly against Sherlock’s. The detective froze against him for a moment, then a long arm was wrapped around John’s waist and a large hand was in his hair and it was _magnificent._ Sherlock hummed against his mouth and angled his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against the seem of John’s lips. John moaned and pulled Sherlock closer, his hands hard on the man’s hip as Sherlock’s tongue slid against his own.

 Sherlock let out a low noise, almost a growl, that went straight to John’s cock and had him backing Sherlock against the side of the cab, the kiss turing hard. His hands slid from Sherlock’s hair to his chest and he could feel the tight buds of the man’s nipples through the silky fabric of his shirt.

 If he’d had Sherlock in his flat he would have teased them, and taken the time to find out just how sensitive they were, but he was taking things _slow_. There would be plenty of time to explore him later.

 Wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist under the coat, he gentled the kiss until it was just soft, slow presses of lips. Sherlock followed his lead, and John could feel him smiling against his mouth.

 When he finally pulled back Sherlock’s eyes were still shut, and John had the pleasure of watching Sherlock blink back to himself, smiling softly. They eased away from where Sherlock was leaning against the side of the cab, until they were upright on the pavement once more.

 “I need to see you again,” Sherlock said, his thumb brushing over John’s cheek and his eyes very warm.

 “Definitely,” John  said, not the least bit embarrassed by the breathiness of his voice.

 Sherlock chuckled, “I’ll text you.”

 “You’d better,” John said, smiling with his tongue between his teeth.

 Sherlock grinned, “Well, until then John Watson.”

 Giving John a wink he turned and slid into the cab, waving at John through the window as he pulled away. John waved back, before turning and heading for his door.

 “Until then Sherlock Holmes.”


	2. The Second Date and a Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock text, then catch a criminal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait everyone! Some family stuff came up, then I was away for two weeks, but now I'm back and the updates will definitely be more regular.

 

_Do these sclera suggest smothering? -SH_

John sat up with a grunt and scrubbed at his eyes as a close up picture of a bloodshot eye filled his screen. He studied it for moment before replying 

_Good morning to you too._

_Well?-SH_

John took a closer look at the photo.

_Yeah it could be from smothering, but petechia can be caused by intense coughing or vomiting too._

He thought for a moment, before hitting send. He wanted to impress Sherlock, to show that he was indeed a doctor despite the chauffeur uniform.

_Was their tongue bitten? Bleeding from the mouth or nose?_

Pleased with his response, John swung his legs out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom. He was toweling his face dry when his phone dinged again.

_Thank you John  -SH_

John smiled at the phone as he tapped out his reply.

_At the morgue?_

_No. A crime scene- SH_

_Be careful._

A minute or two passed with no response. John shrugged to himself and plopped his phone down. Sitting at the desk he fired up his laptop to check his work roster for the day.

 

***

 

Three days after their date John lay staring at the ceiling, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He sat up slowly, every bone in his back aching. He focused on the muzzy darkness of his room; the strip of yellow light from the street lamp outside, the shadow of his laptop on the rickety desk, the soft gleam of the mini fridge in the kitchenette. 

It wasn’t working. Usually focusing on his surroundings helped chase away the remnants of his nightmares, but not tonight.

He swallowed hard, his throat like sandpaper. Coughing, he slowly trudged out of bed, tugging his pajama bottoms into place as he headed for the sink. As the water glunked into the glass flashes of the dream danced before his eyes;  the sand gritty under his nails, Bill shouting as he pressed against John’s shoulder, the sun blinding him.  

The mattress squeaked in protest as John sank back against it. His heartbeat began to pick up and sweat beaded on his brow. He tried to slow his breathing, to smother the panic he felt tightening the back of his throat. The glass shook as his eyes flicked frantically around the room before they finally landed on his phone.The dim light from the window threw every scratch and dent into relief, not that John cared.

John looked away and took a slow sip of water. The kitchenette clock ticked loudly at him in the dead silence of the bedsit. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, then hauled them back up. Pacing wouldn’t help.

3:47am was a ridiculous  time to text someone.

 

_Tick tick tick…_

 

Then again Sherlock had texted him a decomposing foot yesterday, so the normal rules of propriety clearly didn’t apply.

 

_Tick tick tick…_

 

With a huff of frustration, John grabbed his phone and swiped the screen, squinting against the light a for a moment.

The cursor blinked at him. Texting ‘are you wake?’ was far too silly....

Mashing his lips together he began to type.

_Is it true that bees only produce a teaspoon of honey in their lifetime?_

To his surprise only a minute passed before ‘ _Sherlock is typing’_ appeared at the top of the screen.

_It’s actually 1/12 of a teaspoon- SH_

_I’m surprised you’re still up. Night owl?_

_Working on an experiment- SH_

 

Then a few seconds later.

 

_Between the two of us you’re definitely more owl-like John- SH_

John grinned at the phone, his shoulders relaxing as he got into the conversation.

_True, you’re more of a vampire_

_A blood drinking, reanimated corpse? Thank you, John- SH_

_I was thinking more along the lines of tall, mysterious and sexy, but if you prefer the corpse thing then by all means._

John curled onto his side, as he waited for Sherlock to respond. He knew he wouldn’t sleep again tonight, he never could after his nightmares, but talking to Sherlock was helping him calm down a lot faster than wallowing on his own.

_Whatever you say John. Owls do have a certain aesthetic appeal you know -SH_

John chuckled out loud at that, and began to type his reply when Sherlock’s other text came through.

_Would you like to help me with a case Friday? I need to attend a jeweler’s exhibition and it would be easier to blend in if I have a date -SH_

_Also I would like to see you again- SH_

A warm feeling uncurled in John’s chest. Feeling a bit like a teenager, he slid further under the covers and grinned at his phone.

_Sure, it sounds like fun. Details?_

The sky slowly lightened as John learned all about James Wrecker, a jeweler who’d gone into his workshop one day to find the gemstones of his most prized piece for his exhibit swapped for fakes. Sherlock suspected the man’s gem dealer, who was secretly (though not so secretly for Sherlock) drowning in debt, and Wrecker’s own daughter. The show was where Sherlock expected to figure out exactly which one of them was to blame.

John’s heart slowed as he listened to Sherlock berate both his suspects for being idiotic enough to swap a _jeweler’s_ stones and think he wouldn’t notice. He could still feel the horrors of his dream scratching at the back of his mind, but slowly, slowly it began to melt away as they texted back and forth.

He had just put his phone down after they exchanged good-byes, when his alarm went off.

John’s eyebrows rose in surprise, he hadn’t spent an entire night simply talking to someone since he was in his twenties. Sure the army had had plenty of sleepless nights, but those nights were coated in the smell of antiseptic and the sound of artillery fire. Not the calm quiet of last night, with only the oddly comforting clicking of his keyboard breaking the silence.

He knew he’d pay for it later, but John couldn’t help but smile as he hauled himself out of bed to get ready for the day.

  


***

 

Friday evening found John  with an unusual spring in his step as he entered his tiny room. He hooked a finger under the knot in his tie and tugged, loosening it as he fished his phone out of his pocket to check his messages. He was looking forward to his night with Sherlock, technically it was for a case, but John still counted it as their third date.

 

_I’ll pick you up at 8:00- SH_

 

_It’s black tie by the way- SH_

 

His excitement shriveled. What the fuck….he didn’t own anything  formal!

Striding to his wardrobe, he tore open the door as if he expected a suit to materialize before his eyes. John chewed his lip as he regarded his jumpers and jeans. He had a grand total of one smart shirt and trousers for interviews, but he knew they weren’t formal enough for black tie. There were his two work suits, but those were going shiny at the knees with age...definitely not suitable.

Annoyance began to creep over the dread. Sherlock could have damn well mentioned this before!

As he contemplated texting Sherlock a thanks for making him find a tuxedo he couldn’t afford in three hours, his eyes fell on the black garment bag tucked into the corner of his closet.

Well, technically that was considered formal wear. If it could be worn to get married in then it could certainly be worn to this event.

Sighing to himself, John hauled the bag out of the cupboard and headed toward the toilet. It could steam while he showered.

  


***

 

Staring into the mirror, John straightened his beret and tugged his jacket straight. All in all his dress uniform still looked pretty good on him. It still looked new, and the lines were crisp thanks to his foresight to dry clean it before putting it away when he’d moved in. He’d been worried it would just hang off of him, given all the weight he’d lost while in hospital, but four months back home had helped John’s weight gain more than he thought. The belt was a bit loose, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Well Sherlock would just have to deal with it, it was the only formal thing John owned, and would have to do.

_Outside- SH_

Tucking his phone into his pocket John made his way outside and over to Sherlock’s cab. He could see Sherlock staring at him through the window, his phone held loosely in one limp hand. John smiled, feeling a touch self conscious, and smoothed his hands over the front of his uniform.

Sherlock was still staring as he slid into cab.

“Alright there Sherlock?” John said, hoping to god a scathing commentary about his uniform wasn’t going to start.

Sherlock eyes roamed over John’s body from head to heel, before finally locking on John’s eyes, their intensity starling.

John smirked, every bit of self consciousness fading as Sherlock looked him up and  down again.

It looked like his uniform had been the perfect choice after all.

“I’m fine, John,” Sherlock said, reaching out one long finger to stroke over the gold braid at John’s shoulder.

“Is my uniform okay for this or should I change?” John teased, grinning at the way Sherlock was now fingering the medals on his chest.

“No. it’s fine. You look-” Sherlock cleared his throat softly, “You look good. _Very_ good, John.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” John said, letting his eyes trail over Sherlock.

If he was being honest the man looked downright _edible_ in a pitch black, three-piece tuxedo that emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and the trim line of his waist. Sherlock’s crisp cream shirt and perfectly tied bow tie made him look every inch the pampered, posh socialite.

It made John want to fuck him every way possible.  

“I don’t have all day you know!” the cabbie announced, making John rip his gaze away from Sherlock and return the cabby’s glare in the mirror. “Where to?”

As Sherlock leaned forward to give the cabbie the address, John took in the view. He let his eyes trail up the long line of Sherlock’s back to the curl of hair at his nape that fell over his collar. His tongue dragged over his lower lip as Sherlock’s shoulder blades shifted under the fabric.

Sitting back Sherlock caught John staring and smirked, that plump lower lip twisting. Unable to help himself, John leaned forward and stole a kiss.

Instantly Sherlock’s hands were in his hair, pulling him closer. John sighed in contentment as Sherlock deepened the kiss, his fingers sliding to John’s chest to fiddle with the MIlitary Cross pinned there. Sherlock hummed against his lips, sliding even closer to John as his fingers toyed with his buttons and then up to stroke along the braid at this shoulders.

“Like the uniform, do you?” John chuckled, shivering when Sherlock nipped at his jaw.

“You have no idea, John.”

“Oi none of that in my cab!” the cabbie cut in, banging one hand against the plastic partition.

John pulled back and gave the man his deadliest glare, before pulling Sherlock in for another longing, lingering kiss. Sherlock was smiling wickedly at him when they parted, his lips pink and wet.

 _God_ John wanted him, but fucking Sherlock in the back of a cab would definitely destroy his efforts at taking it slow. He smiled back and squeezed Sherlock’s hand, willing himself to calm down. Sherlock’s fingers curled around his own, his larger hand enveloping John’s fully.

“So, what’s the plan when we get there?” John asked, trying to cut the tension in the air.

Sherlock looked no better that he did, he kept staring at John’s mouth, his eyes dark.

“Yes, the case,” clearing his throat, Sherlock sat back and tugged his jacket into place. “I plan to observe both suspects tonight and get my man, or woman, as the case may be.”

“And you’ll be able to tell who it is from just observing?”

Sherlock gave him a flat look, and John felt his cheeks heat.

“Yes of course,” John said looking away.

“No no, it’s alright!” Sherlock said quickly, giving his hand a little squeeze, “You’d be surprised how telling someone’s behaviour is when they encounter a person they’ve wronged. That’s what I intend to observe tonight. Also the necklace with the fakes will still be on display, as per my request. Another pressure point for our criminal.”

John smiled, excitement growing at the thought of the night ahead. He turned to watch the buildings flash by as they made their way through the posher part of the city, Sherlock’s hand still curled firmly around his own.  


***

  


Well the party was definitely posher than he expected. Sherlock blended right in with the array of similarly suited men (well as much as he could blend in, John was admittedly biased), and beautifully gowned women. John leaned against the marble topped bar, and swirled his whiskey in it’s glass, watching Sherlock make a causal circuit of the room, holding his own glass.

John knew it was anything but casual. Sherlock was ‘one the scent’ under the guise of an interested investor, and sharply observing his suspects.

Taking the final sip of his whiskey, he abandoned the glass on the bar and made his own turn around the room. Propping up the bar would start to draw attention to him, which could hinder the case.

‘ _The case.’_ John smiled over the phrase as he wandered around the huge, wood paneled ballroom. Dotted along the black and white marble tiled floor were glass cases containing Wreckers creations. John was sure each piece of jewelry was worth more than he’d see in several life times. A fact supported by the sheer size of some of the stones, and the unobtrusive guards stationed close to each case.

Some of the pieces were gorgeous, like the diamond choker dripping with pear shaped stones. While others, if John was being totally honest, were downright gaudy, like the rose gold cuff covered in huge square cut rubies. Then there were others that were...seductive.

John paused in front of one particular display case. Inside stood a black marble sculpture of a man’s body from neck to knees. Like most sculptures, the muscles were beautifully crafted, with perfectly cut abdominals, a wide sleek chest and defined biceps. This sculptor, however, had given the torso a sensuous twist, as if the person were frozen while writhing in pleasure. The effect was far more erotic than John had been expecting, especially at a jewelry exhibit.

Resting over the statue was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry John had ever seen. Fine platinum chains dripped over the torso of the figure, ending in a border of dangling sapphires that stopped just short of the groin. The chains were plaited and roped across the chest and well defined stomach, with a line of sapphires trailing down the groove of the figure’s abdomen. What had to be at _least_ a five carat sapphire rested delicately in a perfectly sculpted navel.  

“Like what you see?” a voice purred in John’s ear, making jump.

He glanced up to see Sherlock smirking down at him, his eyes glinting.

“I especially like how he designed the upper torso of the piece,” Sherlock continued, his voice a deep rumble, as he gestured toward the case with his glass.

John turned back to the chain covered sculpture. Ah, he could see why that would be appealing.

Tiny sapphires had been set into two delicately wrought rings of platinum. Each ring sat delicately around the statues perfectly carved nipples, a looping chain connecting them both.

“Humm, it seems the model was cold when this was carved. Don’t you think so John?” Sherlock said quietly, leaning over John’s shoulder to peer at the statue.

John licked his lips as the long line of Sherlock’s body pressed against his back. He looked up, his nose brushing the underside of Sherlock’s jaw, and he couldn’t help but exhale ever so gently against the skin there, making the detective shiver.

“I wonder what it must feel like to wear that?” Sherlock said, meeting John’s gaze.

Their eyes locked, and John twisted around to face Sherlock fully, lust stirring in him as images of Sherlock draped in the chains crowded his mind. His hands curled into fists as the detective stepped closer. He knew if he let his hands wander, they’d wander right onto Sherlock’s arse which would definitely _not_ be appropriate for such a function.

Sherlock stepped right up to him, his hands clasped behind his back as he leaned into John’s personal space, his lips inches from John’s ear.

“Can you imagine John?” Sherlock purred, “All that cool metal against my warm skin?”

John swallowed hard and was about to whisper just _exactly_ what he’d do when they were interrupted.

“Ah Mr.Sigerson! I’m so glad you could make it!”

John pulled away from Sherlock, his cheeks hot, as a tall, grey haired man approached, beaming.

“Mr Wrecker,” Sherlock greeted him, his voice cool “May I introduce my date, Captain John Watson.”

Wrecker smiled at John, taking in the uniform. John smiled back, but something about the man rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe is was the glint in Wrecker’s eye, as if he were laughing at John while trying to appear civil.

“Ah, an army man,” he said, shaking John’s hand, “Didn’t expect that.”

John’s brow furrowed, “What did you expect?”

John knew exactly what Wrecker was getting at, but he was curious to see if the man was brave enough to say it to his face.

Wrecker’s eyes glinted brighter and he winked at John before turning back to Sherlock. “Any luck so far, _Mr Sigerson_?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the overemphasis on his alias, “All that’s left to do is talk to your gem dealer to pin down a few details.”

“So it was him!” Wrecker said, firing up at once, “I thought so, the conniving little-

“I didn’t say that, now did I,” Sherlock cut in, as if he was talking to a two year old.

“I told you, my daughter had nothing to do with this I-

“Patience Mr. Wrecker,” Sherlock soothed curling an arm around John’s waist, “By the end of the night you’ll know who wronged you.”

Wrecker opened his mouth, but Sherlock was already nodding farewell as he guided John away, leaving a sputtering Wrecker behind.

“What an arse,” John said once they were out of earshot. “I’m almost glad someone ruined his work.”

Sherlock hummed, in response, his eyes darting around the room and his arm still warm around John’s waist.

“Ah, here comes the daughter, we need to talk to her next.”

“What about the gem dealer? I thougt-

“All in good time John,” Sherlock said with a quick wink.

Sherlock fixed a lazy smile on his face as a woman in a emerald green evening dress approached them, smiling. Diamonds sparkled at her neck, wrists and ears.

“Miss Wrecker, what a pleasure,” Sherlock drawled, languidly extending one hand.

They shook and Miss Wrecker turned to John. So this was suspect number two. Why would she need to steal jewelry? She clearly had plenty of her own.

“Katherine Wrecker,” she said jovially, extending her hand, “And you are?”

There was a certain emphasis on the words that belied the joviality of her voice and made John suddenly feel like he was gate crashing.

“Captain John Watson,” Sherlock said, his voice a tad crisper, “My date.”

“Ah, I see. It’s a pleasure to have you here Captain Watson.” She gave him a smile, her eyes assessing him, before drifting to the display case they’d just been looking at.

“I see you were admiring my favourite piece.” she said, a smug edge to her voice, “There’s something sensual about it isn’t there?”

“There certainly is,” Sherlock said, with a slow smile, “You helped with the design, didn’t you?”

Miss Wrecker looked surprised for for a moment, before her distant smile slipped back into place.

“Why, yes I did. Did my father mention it to you?”

Sherlock hummed in disappointment, glancing back at the case with a contemplative air, “No, he actually bragged about the work himself. He did mention having help, but no one by name.”

John marveled at the change in Miss Wrecker’s face as Sherlock spoke. Her smile brightened, but her eyes got colder and harder with each word. The effect was more disconcerting than he expected.

“I see,” she said smoothly, “So, Mr Sigerson, how did you know I was the _help_?”

She and Sherlock beamed at each other, in a decidedly unfriendly way.

“Anyone with eyes could tell they’re two distinct styles of design in the pieces tonight. Although many artists can vary their style, your father isn’t one of them. His work is more….ostentatious... you could say, while your’s is modern...edgy.”

His eyes drifted over to the body chains, a distant expression on his face.

“Tell me,” Sherlock continued,his voice as distant as his gaze, “at what point during your training did you realize your father was jealous of your talent?”

Miss Wrecker froze for a moment, her eyes narrowed and the smile gone from her face.

“Tell me _Mr Sigerson,_ why exactly are you here tonight?” she countered, her voice sharp.

John froze at the emphasis on Sherlock’s alias. She knew.

“I’m sure you can figure it out, Miss Wrecker. Tell me, how devastated were you when you found out your prized piece had been ruined?” he gestured gently over to the case with the statue encased in chains.

“ _Those_ are the fakes?” John said, his gaze snapping to Sherlock. “You told me it was a necklace!”

“It was referred to it as a neck piece in the catalog. The phrase ‘body chains’ is too gauche for this crowd, isn’t it Miss Wrecker?”

The woman in question had gone white, the plastic smile gone completely.

John himself was at a loss. Sherlock had’t told him any of this, he’d made it look like Miss Wrecker was the suspect, not the victim. John couldn’t help but feel thrown, and a little left out. He’d thought they were working as a team.

“How did you- you couldn’t have-” Miss Wrecker’s voice was shaking slightly, as she gaped at Sherlock.

“I only figured it out myself this morning.” Sherlock said, eyeing John out of the corner of his eyes and frowning. “Your father may not be a talented jeweler, but he’s a fair liar.”

“He swapped the stones,” John said incredulously, the pieces falling into place. “He stole them and then hired you.”

Sherlock nodded at him gravely.

“He tried to frame his own…

“Yes John.” Sherlock cut in, edging closer to Miss Wrecker, who’d gone pale. “He was clever, I’ll give him that. He didn’t even mention you as a suspect Miss Wrecker, he let me reach there on my own, and like an idiot I fell for it.”

“How’d you figure it out?” John asked, the slight hurt fading as the need to know  took over.

Sherlock gave him a speculative look and John smiled encouragingly, curious to see how Sherlock’s brilliant mind had connected the dots.

“Miss Wrecker’s father bought her a gift this morning. Didn’t he?” he said, turning back to the woman. “A gift to apologize for your name not appearing anywhere in the catalog despite you doing half the work, and to console you over displaying your ruined master piece.”

“The coat-

Without another word, she turned and hurried away, her heels clicking across the tiled floor. Sherlock and John immediately hurried after her, trying to be quick without drawing attention to themselves. The room had gotten significantly more crowded since they’d gotten here, and champagne filled guests didn’t make moving any easier.

“What does her coat have to do with anything?” John asked as they cut around a cluster of scotch wielding men. “And why exactly is her father framing her?”

“He wants her out of the picture so he can take credit for her work” Sherlock said, clearly trying his hardest to resist shoving people out of the way. “Switching the stones had two purposes, to discredit her and to frame her for theft.”

“But what does her coat-

His words died as they finally cut through the crowd and entered the smaller anti-chamber where the coat check was. They caught up to Miss Wrecker just as she collected her coat.

“Please, let me,” Sherlock said, extending one hand for the coat.

Miss Wrecker regarded him warily, “My father hired you, why should I trust you?”

“Because you have no other choice, if you leave with that coat everyone will think you’re guilty.”

She stared at him a moment, every inch of the glittering socialite gone from her face. It made her look smaller somehow. Sherlock stared back, his gaze unwavering.

Finally, she slowly handed over the coat. Sherlock snatched it and, to John’s surprise, tossed it to him. He caught it easily. Iit was more of a cape than a coat, made out silky black fabric and surprisingly heavy.

“Cut along the stitching at the hem and cuffs,” Sherlock said quickly, pulling his phone and a pocket knife out of his pockets. He tossed the knife to John.

“I’ll summon Lestrade, and _you_ ,” he said to the coat check attendant who was staring at them as if they were all quite mad, “Try to be a useful witness when the police question you.”

John couldn’t help but laugh as he flipped open the blade on the knife. Sherlock shot him a grin as he held his phone up to his ear.

John crouched down and carefully fanned the cape out on the marble floor, the deep black fabric contrasting sharply with the creamy marble floor. He heard the rustle of Miss Wreckers gown as she kneeled down next to him. Carefully, John slid the blade along the fine stitching that joined the silky lining to the heavier outer fabric. The thread parted easily and John soon flipped the flap of fabric open.

John’s eyebrows rose, and he felt Miss Wrecker go still next him when they saw what was hidden under the fabric.

Silently, John cut open the seams at the cuffs of the coat,carefully removing three long, thin bags and laying them gently in the floor in front of him.

Even through the thick plastic the gleam of the gems was unmistakable.

  


***

 

“So he stole the sapphires himself to frame his daughter because he was _jealous_ of her,” Lestrade said incredulously.

“Well, you’ve seen her work, Wrecker couldn’t compete. He decided to get her out of the way to take the credit for himself.”

“But wouldn’t she have been able to prove it was her work?” Lestrade countered, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “She must have had some proof.”

“Her father taught her everything he’s knows, and despite not having her talent, he had the knowledge and weight in the community to discredit her.”

“Still, to frame your own kid though,” he looked passed them to where Katherine Wrecker was talking to another officer, an orange blanket draped around her shoulders.

“Yes, well jealousy can make people do terrible things,” Sherlock said quietly, turning away.

John eyed him for a moment, then gave Lestrade a grim nod and smile, before following Sherlock out.

“That was brilliant,” John told him, when he’d caught up.

Sherlock gave him a weak smile, “Thank you John.”

John smiled as they headed toward the elevators. Sherlock was quiet as the glided toward the ground floor.

“Everything alright?” he asked, when the silence started to get to him.

“It’s just-” Sherlock sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, “the wrap up was so _mundane_.”

John let out a startled laugh, “Well they all can’t be serial killers.”

“Ugh, if only.”

He smiled slyly at John as they stepped out of the elevator.

“Well in all in all it was a wonderful date,” John said, shooting him a wink.

Sherlock beamed and held open the door for John as they headed out into the cool night.

“So,” Sherlock said, sliding into the cab next to him. “Would you like to see some more?”

John eyed him up and down slowly, “Oh definitely.”

Sherlock smiled then pressed his lips together. “I have some cold cases I’m working on at my flat. You could come for a visit and have a look. Wednesday? I’m at the Yard tomorrow.” he looked annoyed for a moment.

“I’d love that,” John said, stroking his thumb over Sherlock’s knuckles.

“Perfect,” Sherlock beamed, and John felt something warm and soft uncurl in his chest.

He leaned forward just as Sherlock did and they shared a kiss as the cab pulled away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the body chains will make a reappearance by the way


	3. The Third Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, I had a bit of a block with this chapter....also here's where it earns it's E rating ;)

The wind tore at John’s jacket Wednesday afternoon as he made his way down Baker Street. He squinted against the sharp breeze and trudged along, sighing in relief as a flapping red awning came into view. Sherlock had said his flat was right after the cafe.

Sure enough in moments he was in front of a black door, the number 221 glinting dully at him. He knocked, eagerly waiting to be let in and so very curious to see where someone as unique as Sherlock lived.

The door swung open, but instead of Sherlock, an older woman was standing there.

“Oh hello,” John said a bit surprised, he didn’t know Sherlock lived with anyone. “I- um- is Sherlock in?”

The woman smiled, and John relaxed slightly, “Oh yes dear,” she appraised him for a moment, “You must be John. Go on up!” she gestured up the stairs.

John smiled and stepped into the flat. Sherlock had mentioned him to his...landlady? Mother?

“I’m John Watson,” he said unnecessarily, hoping to suss out who she was.

“Martha Hudson dear, Sherlock’s landlady. He’s expecting you.”

John smiled again and headed up the stairs.

221b was interesting…. to say the least. The first thing John was struck by was the clutter.

The table at the window, half of the couch and a large part of the floor was cluttered with boxes and papers that spilled over onto the floor. The mantle was covered with dirty teacups, a pile of letters pinned in place by a jack knife and an honest to god skull grinning at him from the corner of the mantle. John found himself smiling at it, feeling fond. There was something so very Sherlock about owning and displaying a skull.

Taking a turn around the room, John couldn’t help but feel strangely welcomed. He could see himself reading the paper by the fire and dozing on the couch. John felt his eyes widened as he realized the overly familiar thoughts he was having about a flat he’d never been in before. He shook his head, he was taking it slow, a fact he seemed to be forgetting whenever he saw Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” he called out, realizing the detective had yet to appear.

“I’ll be out in a minute John!” he heard the man call from somewhere deeper in the flat.

Shrugging, John continued wandering around the living room. Underneath the clutter he could see traces of Sherlock’s personality. It was in the violin case tucked away in the corner, the lab equipment set up in the kitchen and the case notes taped above the couch. John was about to go over and have a look when Sherlock’s voice rang out from the back.

“John?”

“Yeah?” John called, wandering through the chemistry lab of a kitchen.

In the hallway next to the fridge, he saw Sherlock peeking out of his bathroom door, his head the only thing visible to John.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but there was an...incident…” he looked down at his body hidden by the door, “With one of my experiments and I had to take care of it.”

“Are you alright? Do you need help?” John said, stepping closer, images of burnt skin and contaminated wounds coming to mind.

“No, no, it’s fine”, Sherlock said, with an embarrassed chuckle, “it’s just a solution spill, more odorous than dangerous.”

“I’ll stay well back then,” John said with a laugh of his own, taking an over exaggerated step backward.

As Sherlock laughed his grip on the doorknob loosened, giving John a lovely view of the detective’s body. He let his eyes wander over a well muscled shoulder, past a firm pectoral and down Sherlock’s sleek arm. One large hand, with the tendons thrown into stark relief, was clutching a towel just under a jutting hipbone. John wet his lips as his eyes dragged over Sherlock’s nipples, peaked from the cold.

By the time John’s eyes made it back to Sherlock’s face, the man’s embarrassed smile had turned sly.

“I’ll only be a moment John.” Giving him a wink, Sherlock slid the door shut.

John swallowed hard and did a sharp about face back into the kitchen. He heard the shower splash on behind him, and tried hard to quell the thought of what would happen if he knocked on the bathroom door and asked to join the naked, wet man behind it.

He had self control. He had self control. He had self control.

Trying to distract himself John looked around the kitchen, taking in the chemistry equipment, the leather note book with Sherlock’s scrawled notes and what looked suspiciously like human fingernails on a slide.

He was just debating the safety of making tea amongst all the chemicals when he heard the flat door open.

Expecting the landlady, he was surprised to see a well dressed man, holding an umbrella, enter the flat. He looked around for a moment, the corners of his mouth turned down in distaste, before focusing on John.

“Good afternoon Dr Watson,” he said, his tone coated in ice.

“Afternoon,” John said, every sense on alert. How the hell did this person know his name?

“I’m looking for my brother, is he in?”

“He’s in the shower,” John said, slowly coming into the livingroom as the man took a seat on the couch. “You must be Mycroft.”

Mycroft nodded once, not looking the least bit surprised that John knew who he was.

“And you are John Watson, former army doctor and captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, turned chauffeur for Stamford’s Limo Service.”

John blinked at him a moment, the dread in his stomach slowly morphing into annoyance. He was a protective older sibling himself, but there were limits.

“Done your homework , have you?” John said, his tone icy as he folded his arms over his chest.

Mycroft ignored him, inspecting his fingernails as he continued speaking. “You’ve gotten quiet close to my brother in quite a short space of time, haven’t you John?”

John merely looked at him, unwilling to give anything away.

“Surly I don’t have to tell you how unwise that is,” Mycroft said, twirling his umbrella between his fingers. “You of all people should know what a disaster rebound relationships can be.”

“Me of all people?” John said, his eyebrows climbing in offence. “Just how do you know that?”

“Do you really think I let people close to my brother without having any...knowledge...about them? You were certainly well known in the army,” Mycroft said with a smirk. “So tell me, what are your intentions toward Sherlock Holmes?”  
John felt the tips of his ears heat up as they always did when he got angry. If Mycroft honestly thought calling him a slag, and then pulling the whole ‘what are your intentions towards my brother’ routine would scare John into opening up, he clearly wasn’t half as intelligent as his brother.

Exhaling sharply John said, “So tell me, how much knowledge did you have on Victor Trevor? You certainly let your brother get close to him.”

Mycroft's eyes went blank for a moment, before turning glacial, “Dr Wat-

“And we’re dating in case your knowledge doesn’t stretch that far.”

“Dr Watson you seem to be-

Mycroft was cut off by the sound of the bathroom door banging open and a wet, soapy Sherlock came storming into the living room.

“What the hell are you doing here Mycroft?” he growled, coming to stand in front of John.

John’s remark about where Mycroft could shove his knowledge fell right off his tongue as he was treated to a close up view of Sherlock slick back. He knew Sherlock was broad shouldered, but he certainly had more muscles than those suits had led John to believe.

“I was merely explain the damage these sort of relationships can inflict on the parties involved,” Mycroft said smoothly, smirking as he eyed the wet mop that was Sherlock’s hair.

“There’s nothing to explain to John,” Sherlock hissed through his teeth, “I know what I’m doing and I. Don’t. Need. Your. Help.”

“You did almost marry someone only a short time ago, Sherlock. Even a romantic such as you can see the ramifications of entering into another relationship so soon af-

“I know exactly what I’m doing Mycroft. Now, piss off.”

“Really? I’m seem to recall you saying something similar where Victor Trevor was concerned.”

“Get. Out.” Sherlock’s voice was deadly.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows as he studied Sherlock’s face. His expression shifted into something John wanted to call disappointment, but he couldn’t be sure.

John wished he could see Sherlock’s expression at the moment. The conversion was veering too close to John’s insecurities for his own comfort. What exactly were they doing, him and Sherlock? John new he was taking it slow because he felt something deeper for Sherlock building inside him. Sherlock claimed his feeling were the same, but was he being honest? John thought he was, but that little nugget of doubt lingered. Mycroft had a point, as much as John was loath to admit it. He’d just met the man, but having his privacy invaded was a terrible first impression.

Mycroft stood up and buttoned his suit jacket primly. “Well Sherlock, clearly you think you know what you’re doing,” his emphasis on the words showed he certainly didn’t think so. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned to John,” Doctor Watson, do take care.”

With a chilly smile and a threat lingering on his last words, Mycroft left the flat.

There was a beat of silence before John spoke.

“That was your brother.”

Sherlock whipped around to face him, one hand clutching his towel and the other running agitatedly through his hair. “Just ignore him John. He likes to meddle far too much, then prance in here and act like he knows me at all.”

“How the hell did he know all of that about me?” John said, Sherlock's words barely registering.

“He occupies a...minor position in the British Government.”

“He knew things. _Personal things_ , from Afghanistan.”

“Well, maybe his position isn’t so minor,” Sherlock said, trying for nonchalant and missing by a mile.

John finally focused on him properly, and whatever Sherlock saw in his face had the detective’s expression softening. He stepped forward and gently tipped John’s face up with a forefinger and thumb.

“Please John, remember what I said in the park? It’s still true. I- this is more than just a fling to me, and I know it’s more than that for you as well.”

He stepped closer, his thumb slowly dragging over John’s jaw. “Mycroft is… over protective. He obviously thinks this relationship will end in disaster and was trying to suss it out for himself, hence his coming here. He’s wrong of course. He always is when it comes to matters of the heart.”

John stared into Sherlock’s eyes, they were blue today, and looked very stressed.

“Are you certain? Are you sure this isn’t just- isn’t just you coping with what happened?” John said. He knew the words were harsh, but he had to know. He couldn’t risk his heart blindly.

“Yes, John.” Sherlock said, stepping closer.

“Are you absolutely certain?” John asked again, their lips a hair's breath apart.

“Yes John,” Sherlock said, then kissed him.

John froze for a moment, then his hands were in Sherlock’s hair and Sherlock’s hands were cupping his jaw.

There was a soft thump as Sherlock’s towel hit the floor, then the long line of Sherlock’s naked body was pressed against his own. John groaned at the contact, his hands sweeping up and down Sherlock’s back, taking in the velvety feel of his skin. The detective kissed him harder and walked them backward until John hit the door of the flat. John moaned, his tongue sliding into Sherlock’s mouth, their noses brushing together. Sherlock did some moaning of his own then, and wrapped his arms tight around John’s waist, pulling him onto his tiptoes.

John growled and dragged his hands down sherlock’s chest, rubbing his thumbs over Sherlock’s nipples and enjoying the way Sherlock whined in response. He let his fingers wander further, tracing over Sherlock’s cut abdomen before digging into the dips above his hipbones.

Screw taking it slow.

Biting at Sherlock’s bottom lip, he swung them around, pinning Sherlock against the door. Giving Sherlock a devious grin,he began kissing his way down the detective’s neck, sucking at all the spots that made him moan. His tongue outlined Sherlock’s collarbone and over one firm pectoral, before finally getting to those nipples.

Sherlock gasped and tossed his head back as John swirled his tongue over the nub, his hands tightened in John’s hair as he flicked his tongue over the hard tip.

“God John yes,” Sherlock growled as John kissed his way over to the other nipple.

Pleasure coursed through John’s veins, heating his skin and annihilated the nugget of doubt in John’s mind. Fuck taking it slow, now he wanted _speed_.

He wanted to hear that voice _scream_.

Without any preamble he dropped to his knees and licked a stripe up Sherlock’s cock. He got what he wanted as Sherlock shouted, his head cracking against the door. John peered up at him through his lashes, taking in the taut line of Sherlock’s neck and the mess of curls that hid everything but his lips from view.

John sucked at the tip of Sherlock’s cock, flicking his tongue over the slit and taking in the view of those lips spreading wide in pleasure. He swirled his tongue, struggling to keep his eyes open as he drank in the sight of that lush lower lip being pulled between Sherlock’s teeth.

Sherlock’s hands slid into his hair, carding through the strands, then clenching tight when John began to swallow him down, going faster than was probably wise. He had no interest in taking it slow, as he usually did. John wanted to to make Sherlock come fast and hard, leave him shaking. It wasn’t his usual style, but if Sherlock was right, and this was more than a fling, they would have lots of time for slow, sweet love making.

He slid his lips down Sherlock’s shaft, wiggling his tongue along the underside, and keeping the suction tight as he pulled back. Sherlock’s horse gasp of his name had him curling his hand around the rest of Sherlock’s cock, pumping to meet his lips.

Sherlock’s knees shook hard as John began to bob his head. He pulled off to suck at Sherlock’s glands and lick at his slit again, realizing it made the detective wail. John was excellent at finding out what made people tick, well in a sexual sense at least.

“Fuck John! I-

Sherlock’s words were cut off as John took him back into his mouth swallowing him to the hilt. John gagged slightly, but held his own. He wanted this damn it. Looking up at Sherlock he hummed around his mouthful. He wanted to hear more of those gorgeous sounds.

The detective gasped, his head dropping forward. Their eyes locked; Sherlock’s pupils were blown wide with lust, his eyes hazy with pleasure. John held his gaze and slowly pulled back.

“Come on Sherlock, let me see you.” John said, licking his lips lewdly.

Sherlock blinked at him, before clenching his eyes shut as John began to pump his cock hard and fast. He sealed his lips over the tip, licking at the glands and slit the way that drove Sherlock wild.

“John I’m going to-

John sucked harder and Sherlock screamed as he came down John’s throat. Working him through it, John watched in rapture as Sherlock came apart above him, his stomach quivering in a way that made the muscles stand out deliciously. John gentled his strokes, eyes rapt Sherlock. The man was too gorgeous for his own good.

As Sherlock came down, he slowly slid down the door until he was sat in front of John, his knees spread on either sides of John’s thighs. John pulled him close, tugging Sherlock into his lap and gently combing a hand through Sherlock’s curls.

They sat that way for a moment, John enjoying the warm weight of Sherlock on top of him as the situation hit him, he began to quietly chuckle.

“What?” Sherlock asked, lifting his head from the crook of John’s neck and cracking one eye open.

“It’s just-

He gestured between Sherlock’s nude body and his fully clothed one. The detective followed his gaze, before chuckling himself.

“Yes you managed to take me apart without even taking off a sock. Well done you.” Sherlock said with a sly smile.

His smile slowly widened as his gaze wandered down John’s body. When their eyes locked, Sherlock’s gaze was wicked.

“Now, it’s your turn John.”

John only had time to blink at him a moment before Sherlock pounced.


	4. The Forth Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait!

John drummed his fingers on the table and resisted the urge to check his watch again. Sherlock was late, very,  _ very  _ late, and John was feeling worse and worse as each minute ticked by. The waiter appeared next to his table again, clearly trying to smother his pity.   
  
“Sir, are you sure you wouldn’t like to order?”    
  
“I’ll give him five more minutes. I’m sure he just got caught up at work,” he said, staring at his half empty water glass.    
  
“Of course, Sir.”   
  
As the waiter walked off, John fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sherlock once again. Once again it went to voicemail. John didn’t bother to leave a message; he’d already left two.   
  
Sighing, he fiddled with his fork. He wasn’t worried in the slightest that Sherlock had been hurt on a case because he knew exactly where the detective was. He was just where John had left him earlier. John had gone to return the scarf that Sherlock had forgotten in the cab after their last case, and found the detective up to his elbows in some disgusting experiment.    
  
Sherlock had barely acknowledged him when John had cme in, but had seemed to perk up when John had mentioned a date.    
  
Now it looked like the experiment was a greater attraction than the romantic dinner that John had had in mind.    
  
What the hell was wrong with him; he was wallowing? John Watson did not wallow, especially over scatterbrained consulting detectives.   
  
Clenching his jaw, he stood up and walked ridgely away from the table. He nodded to the matrade on his way out, wincing at the sympathetic smile he got in return. He debated leaving Sherlock a voicemail explaining exactly how much of a bastard he was, but ultimately decided against it. A part of him, that tiny self conscious part that was progressively getting louder, thought that Sherlock might not even care anyway.    
  
As he trotted down the pavement, that little part of him got louder and louder. Getting stood up would hurt anyone, but under the thin layer of John’s anger was a harder layer of fear. Fear that Sherlock was losing interest, that he’d gotten his life back on track after his almost marriage so John was no longer needed as a distraction.    
  
John wanted Sherlock to be happy, but he wanted to be part of that happiness. Not a tool for Sherlock to use, then discard.  Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he slowly trudged toward his bedsit.   
  
He needed a drink.    
  
  
***   
He was on his second glass of whiskey when there was a tentative knock on the door. He knocked back the rest of the liquor, grimacing at the taste. Whiskey bought with an army pension wasn’t the best by a long shot. With his feet scuffing noisily over the floor, he trudged over and opened the door a crack.    
  
There stood Sherlock.   
  
“Oh, it’s you,” John said, turning away and heading back to his armchair. He grabbed a fresh glass of whiskey on the way.    
  
Sherlock hesitantly stepped into the flat, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His coat was rumpled and his scarf was missing.    
  
“Finished the experiment?” John snapped, taking a gulp from the glass.    
  
Sherlock lips twisted down, he looked at John for a moment before his eyes flicked around the flat no doubt taking in the pathetic state of John’s life from the state of his things.     
  
John took another gulp from his glass, he knew he was feeling sorry for himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.    
  
“John I-   
  
“Did you finish your experiment?” John asked again, swirling the liquor around in his glass.   
  
Sherlock cringed, and stepped further into the flat.    
  
“My phone was in my coat pocket. I’m sorry John.”    
  
“I told you about the date in person, Sherlock,” John said, taking a swig from his glass.    
  
“It was for a case John. You know how I am when there’s a case.”   
  
“Yeah,” John said, staring into his glass, “You forget all about the unimportant things.”   
  
Silence.    
  
John risked a glance upward to see Sherlock looking stricken.    
  
“John that’s not what happened, and you know it.”   
  
If John hadn’t had three glasses of cheap whiskey on an empty stomach, he probably would have kept his mouth shut, but as it was, his tongue to brain filter was severely impaired.   
  
“I know that your life is back on track after the wedding, and maybe you’re getting tired of distractions.”    
  
Sherlock stared at him, his eyes widening in disbelief, before they dimmed with hurt.    
  
“Is that what you think?”   
  
John merely stared at him.    
  
Sherlock crossed the room in two strides and dropped into a crouch in front of John’s chair, his coat fanning out behind him.    
  
“Is that honestly what you think John?” he asked, gently cupping a hand over John’s knee.    
  
John gulped down the dredges of his whiskey and looked away. He’d rather say this to the wall than Sherlock’s face.   
  
“Well, it’s only our fourth date Sherlock, yet here we are. Our relationship has barely started and you’re already forgetting about me. How important can this-” he gestured between them, “-be if that happens?”   
  
Sherlock’s lips mashed into a hard line.    
  
“You know how I am. You know I forget-   
  
“No, I don’t,” John said, turning to look at him.   
  
Sherlock blinked at him,his brow furrowed.   
  
“I don’t know how you are,” John barked a hard laugh and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Here we are only a few weeks into a relationship and I still feel like I barely know you. I don’t even know when your birthday is, your favourite colour...nothing…   
  
John’s voice trailed off. He knew he probably sounded like some sort of whiny teenager, but alcohol always made him too honest.   
  
“You know about my work,” Sherlock said, sounding defensive.   
  
“The work doesn’t make the man Sherlock.”   
  
“It does for me.”   
  
John sighed and tipped his head back against his chair. He felt Sherlock’s hand slide off his knee, and heard him let out a frustrated sigh.   
  
“It was just one missed date, and I apologized,” Sherlock said, a touch of annoyance in his voice.   
  
“See, there’s the problem.”   
  


Sherlock sighed again and stood up.    
  
“This is pointless. You’re clearly bent on feeling sorry for yourself no matter what I say. I told you how I felt, and I explained what happened tonight. I honestly don’t know what else you want.”   
  
He straightened his coat and made for the door.   
  
“You forgot about me Sherlock. You left me waiting at the restaurant like an idiot!”   
  
“Call me when you’ve stopped acting like a teenager,” Sherlock called over his shoulder.   
  
John opened his mouth, an angry reply at the ready, but Sherlock had already slammed the door shut behind him.     
  
John stared at the door in shock, the air around him still vibrating with the force of their argument. What the fuck had just happened?    
  
John cared for Sherlock deeply, but he was so damn hurt over being forgotten, and then accused of acting juvenile for being upset. He honestly hadn’t expected the argument to take the turn it had.   
  
To his horror, his vision blurred, he’d clearly had more whiskey than he should have. Curling over himself in his chair he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, hoping to God the best relationship he ever had, despite it being so short, hadn’t just ended.    
  
He didn’t know how long he’d spent curled over himself when the door to his room slowly creaked open. Looking up, John blinked through his tears, wondering who the hell was interrupting his break down with a break in.    
  
It was Sherlock.   
  
“Oh John. I’m so sorry.”   
  
Sherlock strode forward as John blinked at him, stunned by the turn of events. Sherlock dropped to his knees before John again, his hands coming up to cup John’s wet cheeks.    
  
“John, I’m sorry. What I said, it- it wasn’t on.”   
  
“Did you mean it?” John asked, swallowing hard.    
  
“No, John no. I was worried, and I lashed out.”    
  
Sherlock’s eyes flicked between each of his own, his thumbs sweeping over John’s cheeks. John stared at him, trying to see if Sherlock was sincere or just wanted to save face. The man before him looked contrite, his brows furrowed in concern. John took a deep breath and stared down at his own hands, trying to rein in his emotions and decide what to do.   
  
“My birthday is January 6th.”

John looked up in surprise. Sherlock was giving him a tentative smile, his eyebrows slightly raised.   
  
John couldn’t help it, he laughed. It could have been the whiskey, or the charming look on Sherlock’s face, but John couldn’t help the giggles that spilled out of his mouth. Sherlock grinned at him, curling his hands around John’s shoulders and tugging him forward. John went willingly, until he was off his chair and on the floor between Sherlock’s legs.    
  
Sherlock curled his arms around John’s waist and pulled him close, burying his face in John’s neck. John returned the hug, wrapping his arms tight around Sherlock’s shoulders.    
  
“I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock said, his lips brushing John’s throat with each word.    
  
“You’ll need to make it up to me, you berk.” John said,half teasing, half sincere.    
  
“Oh I will,” Sherlock pulled back, his eyes glinting, “I certainly will John.”   
  
John grinned as Sherlock pulled him down into a kiss.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Nicole and Lynn for the beta work!


	5. The Fifth Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date, music and some smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a monstrous length, I hope that makes up for the wait!

_I have a surprise for you -SH_

**Oh really?**

_Yes. Baker Street. Tonight at 7 -SH_

_If you’re amenable- SH_

**I’ll be there. Can I get any hints?**

_Food and candles- SH_

**_You’re cooking?_ **

_Shut up- SH_

**Sorry. I’ll be there at 7 for your wax play.**

_John- SH_

**_See you at 7 ;)_ **

_Ugh emojis- SH_

**;) :* :D**

***

John pulled his favourite dark blue jumper over his head, smoothening his palms down the soft fabric. The jumper made his eyes bluer and brought out the weak tan he still had from Afghanistan. He scowled at his reflection in the mirror, his khaki trousers seemed too formal for just going to Sherlock’s flat. He yanked them off and grabbed his black jeans instead. Smirking, John tugged off his pants as well. That would be a nice surprise for Sherlock after dinner. Well, if the evening went as John hoped.

Taking one final look at himself in the mirror, John was pleased. Well, as please as he ever got. The jeans clung to his thighs a bit more than his usual trousers, but he found he liked the effect. He hoped Sherlock did too. He certainly knew the man would like what was under- or rather not under- his jeans.

Smiling to himself, John smoothened his hair one last time, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

***

The first thing John noticed when he arrived at Sherlock’s flat was that some brave soul, probably Mrs. Hudson, had gotten it sparkling clean. There were no boxes of supposedly important junk lying all around, Sherlock’s notes were actually contained to his desk and there were no dirty dishes as far as John could see.

The flat was lit by a few lamps and three stubby candles on the mantle, giving the space a glow that John almost dared to call romantic. Tableware was set up on the coffee table and several covered dishes balanced precariously on the small surface. John smiled at that, Sherlock really was making an effort. And succeeding.

Speaking of Sherlock, where was he? Just as he was about to call out for the detective, there was the sound of footsteps and Sherlock appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, smiling a touch hesitantly at John.

“Hello you,” John said with a grin, his eyes running over Sherlock as he approached.

Sherlock was clad in black from his perfectly coiffed head to his leather covered feet. The effect made him look even taller, and thanks to the dim lighting, slightly blurred at the edges, as if he were melting into the dark. All in all he looked posh, mysterious and dead sexy.

“Hello John,” Sherlock said, before leaning down for a kiss.

John immediately slid his hands onto those broad shoulders and pulled Sherlock closer. Long arms wrapped around his waist as Sherlock tilted his head to deepen their kiss. The kiss had clearly meant to be just a peck hello, but Sherlock’s tongue licking against the seam of John’s lips quickly destroyed that idea. John opened his mouth eagerly, moaning as Sherlock tugged him up onto his toes so he could reach John better, his arms like iron bands around John’s wasit.

John found himself wildly wondering if Sherlock could lift him totally off the floor. The man had more muscle under those suits than he let on, something John had seen for himself  that glorious day when he’d had Sherlock against this very door. Maybe he could have John against a wall, his arms locked around John’s thighs as he drove into him. Every muscle straining and glistening with sweat as they-

“John,” Sherlock said, pulling back slightly,  “We need to stop.”

John blinked at him, yanked out his thoughts by Sherlock’s panted request.

“I thought it was going alright,” he said, half joking and half hoping Sherlock was  only stopping so he could drag John off to his bedroom.

“I have plans,” Sherlock said, his eyes dark as bored into John’s.

“Keeping looking at me like that, and those plans might very well change.”

Sherlock laughed, his chin wrinkling in a way that charmed John more than he thought possible.

“Come now, John, I have an entire evening planned. Besides, I don’t want the food to get cold.”

“You have a microwave.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, still smiling and gently released John from his hold. “You’ll need your strength for what I have planned.”

Although John knew Sherlock was mostly teasing he still felt a thrill go through him. What Sherlock had planned indeed.

“You mean the wax play?” he joked, nodding towards the candles on the mantle.

Sherlock winked gesturing for John to take a seat on the couch.

“I’ll get the wine, you can start in the meantime,” Sherlock said, heading into the kitchen as John began uncovering the dishes.

“Everything smells delicious, Sherlock!”

Sherlock grinned, working the cork out of the wine as he sat next to John, the long length of his thigh pressed against John’s.

“I’m a man of many talents John,” Sherlock said with a sly smile.

“You ordered in, didn’t you?”

Sherlock let out a mock gasp of shock, “How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I’ll have you know I went out and collected it myself.”

John laughed and raised his glass in a toast. Sherlock smirked as he took a sip of wine, thoroughly distracting John with the way he licked the excess dark red from his lips with the tip of his tongue.

When he caught John staring Sherlock’s only smirk intensified, the evil bastard.

The food was delicious. Throughout the meal he and Sherlock chatted, actually chatted. Sherlock asked him about his time in the military and made John laugh by telling him of his earlier cases, which then segwayed into the tale of how he met Greg Lestrade.

“So he arrested you?” John asked, taking a bite of the best potatoes he’d eaten in ages.

“Well, Lestrade didn’t. He knew I couldn’t have done it based on my weight. I was reed thin in those days.  But he was just a sargent at the time, and the inspector on the case wouldn’t listen to either us.”

“Well, fuck.”

Sherlock’s eyes went distant as he remembered, “It wasn’t so bad. Lestrade came down to the cell where I was being held, gave me sandwich and asked me to explain how I knew what I knew. He was the first person to take me seriously. After I laid everything out, he had me released, and followed up on my information. The next day he turned up at my flat, told me I’d been right and that he’d be willing to work with me if I wanted.” He grinned at John. “The rest as they say, is history.”

John chuckled and took a sip of wine, trying to imagine a skinny, twenty-something Sherlock sitting grumply in a cell and spelling out his brilliance.

“What do you remember most about Afghanistan?” Sherlock asked, taking a bite of food.

John cringed, his mind immediately going to a cluttered hospital tent with too many people to treat and bearly enough supplies, holding a fellow soldier still as they screamed and twisted on the bed, shouting himself horse with a throat that always seemed coated in sand.

Sherlock winced himself, seeming to realize his question hit a nerve.

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me,” he said quickly, giving John’s knee a squeeze.

John shook his head, dispelling the memories. “It’s fine Sherlock, really,” he said, smiling at the man. “One of the things that I remember well is actually a pleasant memory, believe it or not.”

Sherlock set their empty plates of the coffee table and nodded at him to continue, looking intrigued.

“Sometimes, when I was off duty I’d sneak off the base. Not often mind you, that sort of thing would have you court martialed in a snap. But when being surrounded by people all the time began to chafe and I felt like I’d go insane from everything I’d seen and the people I couldn’t save that day, I’d creep off into the night and walk until the base was just a glow, then I’d lie back in the sand and look up at the stars.”

“The stars?” Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah, the stars,” John smiled ruefully, “There’s no light pollution so far out in the desert so the view is amazing.” His voice softened, “I didn’t know the sky could hold so many stars. It was soothing, humbling, to realize how tiny I was in comparison to everything that existed. It made me feel less pressured somehow, to realize I was just a tiny speck in the grand scheme of things.”

“That would depress some,” Sherlock said, his voice just as quiet as John, “but not you.”

“No, not me.”

Their eyes met in the dim light of the room. Sherlock’s eyes were dark, his gaze intent on John. One large hand cupped the back of John’s head, and he leaned forward to meet Sherlock half way for a kiss. It was short and sweet, more of a ‘thanks for sharing what you did’ than a ‘shag me now’ sort of kiss.

When they pulled back, both men were smiling at eachother, their gazes locked as the moment stretched out.

Sherlock cleared his throat, sitting up. “Right then John,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “It’s time for the entertainment of the evening.”

“Is it now?”

“Yes, go sit over there,” Sherlock gestured to the comfy-looking red chair in front of the fireplace.

John went over to make himself comfortable, shifting the union jack pillow to support his lower back. Sherlock strode over to the desk and flipped open his violin case.

“I thought a little music would be nice after we ate,” Sherlock said, and if John didn’t know any better he’d swear Sherlock looked a little shy.

“Of course it would. I’d love to hear you play,” John replied, feeling charmed.

Sherlock’s smile widened and he carefully pulled a gleaming violin from the case. From the way he handled it, John knew it was one of Sherlock’s prized possessions. He watched, entranced by the way Sherlock’s long, large fingers nimbly adjusted the knobs on either side of the instrument’s elegant neck. Those slim fingers gently plucked at the slings, testing the tension and pitch, before sliding along the varnished wood in a silky caress.

“I have the background instruments on my phone,” Sherlock said, plugging his phone into a speaker dock placed on his desk. “I hope you don’t consider that cheating,” he said with a wink.

“Of course not.”

Sherlock hit play and then stood straight, tucked the violin under his chin and raised his bow. The bend of his arm and position of his fingers seemed impossibly elegant to John, who suddenly felt large and borish despite the fact that he was simply sitting in a chair.

Sherlock held still for a moment then slowly pulled the bow across the strings, pulling a long thrilling note. John watched as Sherlock slowly moved the bow, each note more and more beautiful, until he suddenly dived into a fast barrage of notes that made John’s breath catch. The achingly slow melody returned, followed by a quick, unexpected staccato exclamation, and John found himself sitting forward to see where the song went next.

The song wound on, thrilling and soothing in turns. A drum beat came from the speakers, and additional strings were added, backing the complicated notes Sherlock played with ease. John let his eyes wander over the detective’s body as he played. His eyes were shut and his body swayed slightly from side to side, his eyebrows twitching in time with his notes. Sherlock looked almost sereine lost in the music, until his brows furrowed hard and another burst of impossibly fast notes came from the violin. The music became louder then, and John watched in amazement as Sherlock played on.

The man’s eyes stayed closed until the finale. Then they snapped open and bored into John’s, who felt welded to his chair as the notes came faster and faster. He found his breaths racing in time with the music, his hands clenched tight and eyes locked on Sherlock.

Sherlock swayed closer and closer, his bow racing, the drums from the speakers intisfying. Then with an achingly exhilarating crescendo it was over.

John sat stunned. Sherlock stood right before him, his violin and bow down at his sides and his breath racing. John had no words, nothing he said could properly encompass how touched he felt by Sherlock’s music. So he did the only thing he could think of; he stood up and pulled Sherlock down for a hard kiss.

“That was amazing,” John breathed against Sherlock mouth, before kissing him again.

“The violin,” Sherlock mumbled against John’s lips, “I need to-

John began kissing down Sherlock’s neck, smiling when it made the man lose his train of thought. He licked over Sherlock’s pulse point, giving it a nip and feeling his ego rise a little as Sherlock let out a soft moan.

“Put it away then come back here,” John said lowly, heading over to the couch.

“Over there?” Sherlock said, his voice almost a rumble, “I was hoping to take you to bed.”

John’s eyes widened and he felt a grin spread over his face. He was hoping Sherlock would offer, it had felt to rude to do so himself in the man’s own home.

“Take me then,” he said, as Sherlock snapped the case shut. He turned to John, one eyebrow cocked and a sly smirk on his face.

“Oh John, I intend to.”

***

“Sh-Sherlock! We need to-

John’s words trailed of into a moan as Sherlock licked a stripe up the side of his neck before _biting_ the skin right above his collar.

“Too many clothes, John,” Sherlock mumbled, as he bullied John through the doorway of his room.

At least John assumed it was Sherlock’s room. All the blood in his body had gone straight to his cock, leaving his poor brain to wither away into nothing.

“That’s what I was-

Again John’s words were cut off as Sherlock slammed him into the shut bedroom door, pressing every inch of that long body against John’s. Huge hands cupped his face as Sherlock licked his way into John’s mouth. John gasped as Sherlock’s hands nimbly unbuttoned his shirt, then those long glorious fingers were skating over his stomach, teasingly circling his navel, before moving upwards.

John wasn’t ashamed to say that he whined at the frist touch to his nipples. Anyone being pinned to a door by Sherlock Holmes would do the same. Sherlock’s long thumbs circled John’s nipples delicately before brushing over the hardened tips. John jerked, letting out a ragged a gasp as Sherlock flicked one hardened nub with his thumbnail.

“Do you like that John?” Sherlock said, his voice dark.

John clenched his eyes shut as Sherlock’s hands vanished for a moment, then cried out as now damp fingertips returned to his nipples, gliding smoothly over the puckered skin. Sherlock kept his touches light, gently sweeping and circling over the hardened nubs, making John shake.

“I said, do you _like_ that John?” Sherlock purred, nipping at John’s earlobe.

John nodded and squirmed, trapped against the door.

“Answer me John.”

“Yes! Fuck, I love it! I-

“Lets see what this does then.”

With that Sherlock ducked his head and licked over John’s left nipple. John shouted, his hands tangling in Sherlock’s hair, as the man’s tongue swirled in slow, teasing circles.

“God, Sherlock!”

Sherlock chuckled against his chest and moved on to the other nipple, dragging his teeth over the taught skin between John’s pectorals. John’s head thunked back against the door, drowning in pleasure as his other nipple was laved over by a truly wicked tongue.

Sherlock rose to his full height and yanked John into another brutal kiss, pulling him away from the door and walking John back towards his bed. John forced his hands to move, going to Sherlock’s shirt and fumbling with his buttons.

Why did he need to wear a shirt this tight? And why oh why were they so much buttons?

Growing, John gave up. He hooked his fingers between the buttons and ripped the shirt open. The buttons flew everywhere and Sherlock let out a gasp up surprise.

“John, you absolute _neanderthal_ ,” Sherlock said, with a pleased smirk.

John grinned wickedly at him and pulled Sherlock down onto the bed, until the detective was crushing him into the mattress.

It was pure glory as their bare torsos rubbed together, Sherlock’s nipples catching and sliding against John’s. Sherlock growled and tried to kiss John’s neck, but John stopped him, curling a hand in Sherlock’s hair and pulling him back so their eyes locked.

“I want you to _fuck_ me Sherlock Holmes.” John growled.

Sherlock’s eyes darkened and he held perfectly still for a moment, before diving down for a deep kiss. His hands fumbled with the button of John’s trousers, then Sherlock was shoving them down John’s thighs as best as he could while still lying on top of him.

His went still as they met bare skin.

“You _deviant_ ,” Sherlock mouthed against John’s neck pulling back and yanking John’s trousers off in one quick move. He was clearly very eager to get things going.

“I think we’re a little uneven here, don’t you?” John said with a sly grin, eyeing Sherlock’s trousers, that were currently taking quite a lot of punishment.

Sherlock chuckled as he wiggled around, undressing without leaving the bed. Quicker than he thought possible John had six feet of naked Sherlock hovering over him, looking at John like was something to eat.

“God, the things I’m going to do you,” Sherlock said, his voice almost subsonic. “The things I’ve thought of doing to you…

“Such as?” John said, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock’s hands slid down his body, caressing John’s sides and squeezing his hips. Long fingers curled around his thighs, and John found his legs being pulled around Sherlock’s wasit. He happily complied, pulling the man closer against him in a move that made them gasp as their cocks slid together.

“God Sherlock-” John panted, grinding slowly against Sherlock.

His words were cut off as Sherlock rolled them suddenly, pulling John on top of him. Giggling, John found his thighs spread wide over Sherlock’s hips, his arse tilled in the air. Before he could say anything, Sherlock pulled him into a kiss.

“You asked my what I was going to do, John,” he said, their mouth’s a hair’s breadth apart.

John nodded, all laughter wiped form his mind as Sherlock looked up a him.

“Well, my fingers,” Sherlock purred, dragging one hand slowly up John’s thigh, “Are going to go…

The fingers curled around John’s buttock, giving it a squeeze before moving on.

...right,” a finger slid between John’s arse cheeks gently.

“Here,” Sherlock said, dragging on long finger over John’s hole.

John shuddered hard, his finger tight on Sherlock’s shoulders.

“Please tell me you have lube.” John said, his voice ragged.

Sherlock chuckled and John could actually feel the rumble against his chest.

“Of course John. Am I anything but prepared?”

One long arm stretched over to the side table, but John beat Sherlock to it, leaning over and quickly plucking the bottle from the drawer Sherlock had been reaching for.

“Aren’t we egar?” the detective teased, giving John’s arse a little pinch as Joh popped the cap on the bottle.

“Of course I am. Have you seen yourself?”

Sherlock preened, a devilish smirk on his lips. “There’s no need for flattery John. You already got me into bed.”

Now it was John’s turn to give the other man a light smack on the hip.

“Oh please,” he said, rolling his eyes and leaning down to kiss the ridiculous man below him, “And I think it’s you who got me into bed."

With that he grabbed one of Sherlock’s hands and squeezed a dollop of lube into his palm. He watched in rapture as Sherlock spread the gel over his fingers, rolling the digits in a way John felt was more for show than anything.

“Ready John?”

John nodded and dove down for a kiss, cupping Sherlock’s cheeks in his palms. He gasped against the other man’s mouth as he felt one long finger brush over his hole. The finger slowly circled John’s entrance, making him gasp and bury his head in the crock of Sherlock’s neck.

“Let me see you John,” Sherlock whispered, his voice rough.

Somehow John managed to peel himself off of Sherlock. He braced himself on his elbows above him, their eyes locking as Sherlock slid the tip of his finger into John. John gasped, and valiantly kept his eyes open, licking his lips as Sherlock’s eyes darkened with lust.

“Fuck Sherlock,” John said on a sigh, as Sherlock slowly slid his finger in.

He kept the motion slow and smooth giving John time to adjust. When the finger was half way in, John whined, rutting his hips backward in an attempt to quicken Sherlock’s pace. Sherlock’s other arm immediately locked around John’s wasit, holding him in place.

“Relax John. I have you. Just enjoy it.”

“I won’t break, you know. You don’t have to cling,” John said, wiggling gently in Sherlock’s hold. Though he secretly enjoyed how tight Sherlock’s arm was around him.

“Liar liar,” Sherlock said, his eyes glinting in a way that reminded John just exactly who he was in bed with.

John laughed breathlessly and squirmed just to feel Sherlock’s forearm muscles flex. Sherlock smirked and tightened his hold, firmly sliding his finger in to the hilt. John tossed his head back with a moan. God, Sherlock’s fingers were so long.

Sherlock pulled his finger out to the tip and pushed it back in, slowly fucking John with it.

“You're so _tight_ ,” Sherlock growled, eyes squinted with pleasure.

John didn’t, couldn’t respond as Sherlock chose that moment to press two fingers tips against his entrance, gently coaxing his muscles to relax. Soon John was being steadily fucked by two fingers with Sherlock gazing up at him, his eyes burning.

John slowly rolled his hips in time with Sherlock’s motions, enjoying the feeling of being stretched. His head tipped back and he planted his hands on Sherlock’s strong chest, his movements speeding up as he chased his pleasure. His fingers found Sherlock’s nipples and he circled them with his thumbs. The motion of his hips and thumbs fell in sync, making Sherlock moan beneath him.

“God, that’s good,” Sherlock growled. He drew his legs up behind John’s back, bending them at the knees to cage John in.

John grinned down at Sherlock and gave his nipples a pinch, enjoying the way it made Sherlock shudder. Sherlock’s arm tugged him forward and John, taking the hint, shuffled forward until his cock brushed against Sherlock’s, making both men groan.

“Get the lube,” Sherlock panted, his fingers digging into John’s hip.

John scooped up the bottle that was nestled against Sherlock’s thigh and slicked his hand. He took their cocks in a firm grip, but kept the motion slow and steady. He wanted this to last.

Time ceased to exist as they slowly rocked together, their gasps and moans mingling. John kissed Sherlock as much as he could between gasps of pleasure, their sweaty torses sliding together, hard nipples catching and brushing against each other in the most delicious friction. John kept up the slow, almost languid motion of his hand, keeping them both hard, but not letting either one of them over the edge.

The movement of Sherlock’s fingers carefully, impossibly deepened and his fingers crooked upward in a way that had John shaking with anticipation.  Pulling back to look at him, Sherlock ever so slowly dragged his fingers over John’s prostate. John let out a ragged gasp, tossing his head back digging his nails into Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock kept stroking over that spot inside of him, turning John into an even greater gasping mess than he was before.

The detective’s arm vanished from around John’s waist, his large hand coming to cover John’s over their cocks. John’s grip had slackened as he got lost in lust. He stroked them firmly as he kept up the relentless assault on John’s prostate. For the first time in John’s life, he was speechless with pleasure. He couldn’t even gasp, it was so intense.

He fucking loved it.

The slick sound of lube against skin filled the room as Sherlock stroked them faster. His eyes were intent on John’s face as John grinded against him, his lip caught between his teeth.

“Perfect” Sherlock hissed, eyes narrowed.

John’s eyes to rolled back as Sherlock’s began firmly circling his prostate. The warmth in his thighs and pelvis began to build in that telling way that met his orgasam was close. John rocked his hips faster, grinding back onto Sherlock’s fingers and thrusting forward into his hand.

The heat built and built until John was shaking over Sherlock, his world whiting out as pleasure poured through his body. He was distantly aware that he was shouting, being too loud, but he didn’t care. All the mattered was the ecstasy coursing through him.

As he blinked his way back to himself, he felt Sherlock moving under him, his hand working his own leaking cock as he stared up at John in rapture. John immediately knocked Sherlock’s hand out of the way and took over. Hand stroking hard and fast over Sherlock’s cock, he leaned down and gave the man a filthy kiss.

“Come on you gorgeous, sexy thing. Let me see you.”

Sherlock whined and clenched his eyes shut, his mouth agape.

“I want to see you _come_ , Sherlock,” John said, his voice gravelly from shouting through his orgasm.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open wide, then rolled back as John thumbed over the slit.

“Come all. Over. Me.”

That was it. With a strangled shout, Sherlock shook hard under John, his cock spurting onto John’s thighs. His head tipped back, baring that long, pale throat and heaving chest. John stroked him through the aftershocks, watching Sherlock’s abs and hips flex deliciously as he writhed below John.

It was easily the sexiest thing John had ever seen.

Locking eyes with Sherlock, John raised his dirty hand to his face and slowly licked the come off his fingers. Sherlock gave a tortured groan and tipped his head back, squeezing John’s arse.

“If we were teenagers that was have me hard again, instantly,” Sherlock said.

John let out a filthy chuckle and swooped down to give Sherlock a kiss. One kiss quickly turned into two, then three and by the time John pulled away the come had begun to dry between their bodies. Unbothered, John gently brushed his nose against Sherlock’s, breathing a laugh when Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the gesture.

Clearly somethings were too sentimental for his detective.

“I’ll get a rag,” John said making to stand.

“Allow me,” Sherlock said, flipping John onto his back easily and hopping of the bed. He stretched languidly throwing every muscle in his back into glorious relief. 

John lay back, folded his arms behind his head and smirked at the sight before him.

“If I were a teenager _that_ would have me hard again,” he said, laughing as Sherlock threw him a wink over his shoulder.

Soon they were both wiped down and John was sipping from a glass of water Sherlock had brought him. Sherlock lounged next to him, idly tracing patterns on John’s thigh with one long finger. As he drank, John eyed his crumpled jeans lying on the floor and tried to figure out a tactful way to leave. Thought he certainly didn’t want to. He set his water aside, wondering how rude it would be to just curl up against Sherlock and go to sleep.

“I should probably-

“Stay,” Sherlock cut in, “You should probably stay. You know you want to.”

Sherlock rolled onto his side pulling John with him. John grinned as he was shuffled and arranged, until he was lying with his back pressed against Sherlock’s chest.

“Brilliant as always.”

“Mmm flattery will get you everywhere.”

Sherlock stretched away from John for a moment, fumbled around, then the lights in the room clicked off, leaving nothing but a dim glow from the window.

“Good night John,” Sherlock said with a yawn, pressing a kiss to the back of John’s neck.

“Night Sherlock.”

For the first time in a long time, with Sherlock’s strong arm around his waist and his long body warm against John’s back, John didn’t dred falling asleep.


	6. The Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A suit, a question and the reappearance of something special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is the final chapter! Thank you to Lynn for being an amazing beta!

John woke up naked, an equally naked consulting detective pressed against his back. He smiled and stretched slightly in Sherlock’s hold, smirking when Sherlock grumbled and tightened the arm wrapped around his waist. 

“Go back to sleep, John,” Sherlock grumbled, his lips dragging against the back of John’s neck. 

The feel of those lips against his skin brought memories of last night roaring back; Sherlock’s lips hot on his neck, a tongue against his nipple, a long, slick finger sliding into him. John shivered and wriggled, pleased when he managed to grind back against Sherlock’s cock. His currently very hard cock. 

Smiling, John began to roll his hips causing Sherlock’s cock to slide against his cleft. It wasn’t deep enough to rub his hole, but it made John shiver with anticipation nonetheless. He kept rocking, watching his own cock slowly begin to fill out.

“Enjoying yourself?” Sherlock voice was husky with sleep.

John grinned and sped up his movements. Sherlock’s arm immediately tightened until John dropped back into the slow grind from earlier.

“Mmm, there we go,” Sherlock murmured, his breath warm against John’s shoulder blade. 

One large hand wrapped around John’s cock and started slowly stroking in time with John’s hips. Sherlock pressed a wet kiss against John’s shoulder, delicately nuzzling the skin there as he John became fully hard. John sighed in contentment and let his head loll back against Sherlock’s shoulder. He kept the movement of his hips slow, as early morning light flitted into room giving everything a hazy grey tinge. 

Sherlock moved along with him, rolling his hips against John’s arse and fisting John’s cock in slow, smooth strokes. He pressed lush kisses across John’s shoulders and the nape of his neck, until John was melted against him. Sherlock hummed in pleasure, clearly he liked having John pliant and at his mercy. 

John gasped, his hips jerking as Sherlock began sliding his thumb along the glands of his cock. He rutted a bit harder against Sherlock, in a bit of a quandary. He wanted to keep the pace slow, but he also also wanted to come.

Sherlock seemed to be of a similar mind, but his method was far different. Instead of speeding up, he tightened his grip on John’s cock, and slowed the pace of his strokes, until John was grinding up into the circle of his hand, the way slicked by precome. 

“God Sherlock,” John gasped. He stretched one arm behind him and curled it around the back of Sherlock’s head, drawing the man closer. 

Sherlock chuckled wickedly in his ear, which only ratcheted John’s lust higher.

The heat inside of him began to build and build. It felt different from yesterday; instead of feeling like waves crashing over him, the pleasure felt more like the pull of the undertow. It was deeper, hotter, seeming to come from his core. 

John’s eyes clenched shut as his pleasure crested. He came all over Sherlock’s hand and the sheets below them, the detective’s name a gasp on his lips.

As he lay recovering, Sherlock rutted hard against his arse, until he let out a grunt and John felt warmth splatter over his lower back. It was exciting, sexy and a tiny bit disgusting, but at that moment John didn’t care. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t help,” John mumbeld, feeling a tiny nugget of guilt he’d left Sherlock to finish on his own. 

“No worries John. The sight of you was enough, I assure you.” 

John rolled over, tucking his hands under his cheek and smiled lazily at Sherlock. 

“The sight of my arse you mean,” he said with a cheeky smile. 

“And what an arse it is,” Sherlock said, baring his teeth at John.

John laughed and slid one hand onto Sherlock’s much plumper, and in his opinion, much sexier backside. 

“Speak for yourself,” he said, giving Sherlock’s arse a swat to make it jiggle. 

Sherlock smirked and preened, before leaning forward to give John a kiss. The exchanged lazy kisses, until John shifted back into the wet spot, killing the mood slightly. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, attempting to slide out of bed. Sherlock stopped him with a hand on the arm.

“Let me. You won’t know where anything is.”

Sherlock quickly slid out of the bed, bringing in a gust of cold air that had John cringing. The cold quickly abated as he watched Sherlock walk to the bathroom. Unable to resist, he let out a sharp wolf whistle, laughing when Sherlock wiggled his arse at him in response. 

“John Watson, you rogue,” Sherlock said primly, though his eyes were warm with laughter, “I don’t take kindly to being ogled.”

Sherlock’s tone suddenly had John imagining those public school boys he’d see waiting on corners and lounging in coffee shops on his walk home from secondary school. The way their ties were always _ just so,  _ their jackets and trousers crisply pressed. 

“What’s the matter,” John said, his voice low as he envisioned a younger, gangly Sherlock in a neatly starched uniform, with everything perfectly ironed and tucked into place, “The posh boy can’t take a compliment?” 

To John’s utter surprise Sherlock blushed and froze in the act of draping a towel over the mess on the sheets.

“Oh, we  _ like  _ that do we?”

Sherlock’s blush darkened, although he made a valiant attempt to hide it by ducking his head and wiping the come off John’s lower back. 

“My perfect, pretty  _ posh  _ boy.”

Sherlock looked up at him then. His were cheeks red, his lower lip was caught between his teeth and his eyes were almost what John would call shy. 

Making a sound low in the back of his throat, John grabbed Sherlock around the waist and hauled him back into bed, laughing at Sherlock’s cry of surprise. 

He then proceeded to show his posh boy just how much he loved that gorgeous arse.

***

**5 days later**

John was pressed against Sherlock’s side as they crouched in a dank alley. It was freezing and the thrill of the chase had worn off two hours hours ago. Their target had gone into the building, and it was Sherlock’s, most likely correct, theory that he’d emerge with a case containing some very illegal substances. 

“Are you sure he won’t take another way out of the building?” John whispered, his nose almost pressed against Sherlock’s neck.

“Absolutely John. It’s only a matter of time.”

John shifted his weight and huddled a little closer to Sherlock. His arse was starting to go numb, and he was hungry, but they’d been tailing this man for three days, and John was loath to suggest letting him slip away just because he was uncomfortable. 

He knew it had only been a short time, but Sherlock’s work was already very important to him. He felt like they were team, although he hadn’t been brave enough to voice that thought to Sherlock as yet. To be honest he felt it would be rather conceited to do so. 

Time slipped by and John became colder and colder. Sherlock was like a statue next to him, the fog of his breath the only reason John knew he hadn’t died in place. 

Trying to warm up, John thought about their time together before this case had began. Particularly the times they’d been in bed. He smiled as he remembered Sherlock’s cries of pleasure as he’d licked over the man’s arsehole. Sherlock had been sobbing, clutching the sheets in a white knuckled grip as John took his time and teased his with light little flicks of his tongue. The man had began shouting as John fucked him with his tounge, shaking as he fisted his own cock. John’s own hands had been busy keeping Sherlock’s trembling thighs spread. The noise Sherlock made when he came would be etched in John’s mind forever.

“There John,” Sherlock whispered, pulling John from his thoughts.

The door they were watching creaked open slowly and their target slinked out, a case clutched in his hand, just as Sherlock had theorized. The man looked around and began hustling down the street.

“Brilliant,” John breathed, pressing a quick kissing to Sherlock’s coat covered shoulder. 

Sherlock gave him a quick smile and helped John to his feet. 

“Ready John?”

John nodded, and they both took off down the street after the criminal.

***

**5 day after that**

John scowled down at the two jars of jam in his hands, trying to decide if he wanted his usual raspberry, or the guava for a change. The reason for his scowling was less than two feet away huffing irritably.

“Just get both John. Honestly.” Sherlock huffed.

“That would be a waste,” John said, trying to hold on to his patience. 

Sherlock huffed again. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“You’re the one who wanted to,” John said, still contemplating the jam. 

Sherlock sighed quietly, and hovered a moment, idly tapping his fingers on the trolley handle. 

“Get the guava,” he said finally, “I had it on a case in Trinidad. It was delicious.” 

“Hhuumm.”

“John! For God sakes it’s just jam!”

John couldn’t help it, he laughed. The situation was just too ridiculous. His grin widened at the grumpy look on Sherlock’s face as he dumped the guava jam into the trolley. For his own sanity getting this over with quickly would be for the best. 

“Here,” he said, tearing the list in half. “You get this half and I’ll get the other so you can get back to whatever experiment has you so agitated.” John sighed dramatically, “While me, a wounded soldier, hauls all this back home, _ alone _ .”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, clearly trying to see if John was serious or not. John shot him a wink, and Sherlock scowled although there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“You’ll take a cab back to the bedsit of course, then later,” Sherlock shuffled closer, “Later, how about you come back to mine and I give my poor wounded soldier a rub down. How does that sound?”

John grin turned a shade dirty, “Sounds like a plan.” he shot Sherlock another wink and headed off with the trolley to finish his half of the shopping. 

To be honest he was surprised Sherlock had even come along. The plan had been to have lunch with the detective, then head to the shops before going back to his bedsit. Instead, when Sherlock had realized he was heading to the grocery, he’d surprisingly come along. 

John grinned to himself as he pushed the trolley around the corner. The smile turned into a chuckle at the annoyed sound Sherlock made when he realized he’d have to head all the way back outside for his own cart.

***

**And 5 dates after that**

John let out a huff of annoyance. He shifted his weight on the sleek, but horribly uncomfortable armchair he’d be steered into by an overly enthusiastic tailor’s assistant. Sherlock had been behind the little curtain in the tailor’s changeroom for what felt like hours. Below the fringed curtain hem, he could see Sherlock’s leather shoes and the tailor’s bright teal suedes moving around. Occasionally he could hear them muttering together and the soft sound of fabric being manipulated into place. 

Finally, one side of the curtain lifted and the tailor slipped out, smiling broadly. 

“I think you’ll loved the result!” he chirped, toying with the tape measure around his neck. “It’s different from Mr Holmes’ usual, but I think it suits him quite well.” 

Still smiling, he bustled away.

John smiled after him, more than ready for Sherlock’s appointment to be over. Turning back to the curtain, he saw Sherlock’s shoes shifting around as the man checked himself from every angle.

“Well, let’s see th-

His words trailed off as the curtain slid back and Sherlock emerged. 

_ Fucking hell…. _

Sherlock, was gorgeous. Absolutely  _ gorgeous _ . 

John knew this of course, he’d known since he’d first set eyes on the man, but setting him in a three piece suit just reaffirmed it once again. 

The suit was made of a deep, rusty red fabric cut close in a way that slimmed down Sherlock’s already thin figure and made him look even taller than usual. A dark grey waistcoat peeked out from under the jacket, emphasizing the broadness of Sherlock’s chest and shoulders. John licked his lips, as his eyes traveled upward, taking in the crisp white shirt and dark blue tie that completed Sherlock’s outfit. 

“What do you think?” Sherlock said, his eyes on his own reflection as he tugged the jacket straight. “Vikram out did himself, wouldn’t you say?”

He twisted around to see the back of his reflection, smiling with satisfaction. 

“I think leaving the jacket unbuttoned would be better suited, don’t you?” Sherlock asked, long fingers making quick work of the button.

John swallowed and nodded, feeling slightly dumbstruck.

Before he could find any words, Vikram walked over. 

“I found the perfect pocket square,” he said, smiling as he tucked a dark blue square of fabric into Sherlock’s jacket pocket. A quick twist and tuck of the tailor's fingers had the square perfectly arranged.

“It’s perfect, as usual.” Sherlock said, stretching his arms upward, and smiling in satisfaction at the barest sliver of wrist that was revealed. “The colour combination is perfection and -

“You look  _ amazing, _ ” John blurted, unable to contain himself.

Sherlock blinked at the interruption, then he and Vikram exchanged a knowing look while John felt his face heat. 

“I’m glad you like it John,” Sherlock said, smirking at him in the mirror. “It’s for a truly tedious event Mycroft needs me to go to.”

“Ah,” John said, only half listening as his eyes ran down Sherlock long figure.

“I can think of a way to make it less tedious,” Sherlock continued, straightening his tie.

“Humm,” John managed. 

The sight of those long fingers caressing the rich blue silk was affecting John in unexpected ways. He’d never taken notice of other men’s ties before, but once again Sherlock was shaking John’s perspective to bits. 

“If you come with me,” Sherlock said, oblivious to John’s ogling. 

“Mmhum,”

“John?”

John met his eyes in surprise, “What? Sorry Sherlock, were you saying something?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “ _ Really _ John! It’s just a suit,” he groused, though the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips undermined his annoyance. “I was inviting you to a  truly boring party at my brother’s.”

“Oh of course, yeah. I’ll come if you’d like.”

Sherlock smiled, “You’ll need a suit then. How about something in this blue?” he gestured to his tie.

“Coordinating outfits? Isn’t that too pebian for you?” John teased, unable to help himself. The thought of so obviously looking like Sherlock’s date made him feel warm.

Sherlock scowled, “I thought the blue would go with your colouring is all.”

“You thought it would match my eyes,” John said, batting his eyelashes at Sherlock.

Sherlock’s scowl deepened as Vikram chuckled softly.

Smiling warmly, John relented, “I’m just teasing you Sherlock, of course I’d like that.”

He stood up and walked over to Sherlock, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“Consider me your Ken doll then.”

Sherlock smiled and looked over his shoulder at the tailor. 

“We’ll need to schedule another appointment then Vick.”

“Another full suit?” Vikram asked, his eyes lighting up.

“Yes, the same material as the tie.”

“Excellent choice! The colour will suit your companion perfectly!” 

With an almost feral look at the thought of making up another suit, he flipped open his appointment book and clicked his pen, “Let’s get started.”

***

**And 5 more days after that**

Sherlock was holding himself still. Very, very still. Sudden movement could cause the utmost peril, not for him, or any criminal, but for John Watson. 

It wasn’t for a case, oh no. Sherlock stillness was to preserve the peace of the man currently leaning against his shoulder, sound asleep. In the background the movie played on, overdone explosions and unbelievable stunts lighting up the dark living room of 221b.

Craning his neck Sherlock peered down at John, the doctor snuffled and cuddled closer into Sherlock shoulder. Sherlock’s stomach went warm and he looped his arm over John’s shoulder, holding the doctor closer. He could get this used to this; having John close, here with him. Not just on cases, but even in the quiet moments in between. 

Letting out a contented sigh, Sherlock propped his bare feet up on the coffee table, and slumped down on the sofa, taking John with him. John’s head came to rest on his chest, he grumbled slightly and curled his arms around Sherlock’s wasit. Happily, this put Sherlock in the perfect position to bury his nose in John’s short hair. Pressing his nose against the soft strands Sherlock inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of John’s shampoo. 

Tipping his head against the back of the sofa, Sherlock let out another sigh. He definitely needed to consider inviting John to stay on a more permanent basis.

***

**5 days later**

“This is nice,” John said, opening his menu and gazing around the incredibly fancy restaurant Sherlock had taken him to as a surprise.

Sherlock gave him a tight smile and shifted slightly in his seat. He’d been doing that all night and John wondered if maybe they needed to visit Vikram's for an adjustment. The new suit looked amazing on him, and John had seen more than one person give Sherlock a second look as they entered the restaurant.

John himself couldn’t sit quiet still, but that had more to do with the finger shaped bruises on his arse, left behind by a certain consulting detective. A certain consulting detective who’d spread John’s arse cheeks wide last night, and then rimmed him until he couldn’t even scream any more. John felt his face flush and quickly changed his chain of thought before he embrassassed himeslf in the resturant.

“How was your day?” John said, wanting to break the tense silence. 

He had no idea what had Sherlock so nervous and he hoped he wasn’t the cause.

Sherlock hummed in reply and stared blankly at his menu. John swallowed and tried again.

“So, did you finish the paint analysis?”

Sherlock grunted, and nawed on his lower lip, squirming on his seat, and nervously tapping his fingers against the table top.

Suddenly, it dawned on John. They were on a case! A case would explain the expensive restaurant when Sherlock much prefered chinese takeaway at home, and why he was distracted. 

“So who’s our mark?” John whispered, leaning close and smiling to mask the serious tone of his voice.

Sherlock finally looked at him, his face bewildered, “What?”

“The mark- who are we watching?”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, “There’s no-

“Are you ready to order Sirs?” 

Sherlock huffed at the interruption and John smiled at the waiter, gesturing that he should take Sherlock’s order first. He could feel the adrenaline start to seep into his system at the thought of a case.

Orders placed, Sherlock turned back to John. “There’s no case, John.”

“Oh,” John said, feeling oddly embrassassed, “Oh, so it’s just a date.”

Sherlock’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and he began fiddling with his silverware, “Yes, just a date.”

“Oh no, Sherlock,” John said, taking in Sherlock’s slumped shoulders, “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant this isn’t our usual is all.”

“Yes, well, I thought something a bit more romantic would be nice,” Sherlock said, still not meeting John’s eyes. 

Feeling a bit like a prick, John reached across the table and took Sherlock’s hand, rubbing the back of it comfortingly.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. It’s lovely, it really is. It’s just different, but I’m enjoying it. I really am.”

Sherlock looked up and gave John a nervous little smile.

“Besides,” John continued, still mystified by Sherlock’s nerves, “Whether we have takeout at home or a nice dinner out, I always have fun with you.”

Some of the nervousness leaked out of Sherlock’s smile, and he gave John’s hand a squeeze. 

“Speaking of home-

“Here’s your sheraz!” the waiter chirped, appearing next to the table with a bottle and corkscrew. 

Sherlock sighed and John smothered a giggle as the waiter took his time opening the bottle and pouring them each a careful measure of the wine. 

“You were saying?” John asked, when the waiter had bustled off.

Sherlock shook his head and took a gulp of wine.

“You look amazing in your suit,” John said, when Sherlock showed no sign of continuing whatever he’d been saying before.

“Thank you John. I believe you made that quite clear to Vikram and I at his studio.” Sherlock said, with another of those tiny, weak little smiles.

John gave up trying to ferret out the truth, a direct approach seemed to be in order.

“Is everything alright Sher-

“Your appetizers Sirs.”

This time it was John who huffed in annoyance as their plates were set down before them. Sherlock twisted his lips and took a tiny bite of his food. 

“Everything is fine John,” he said unconvincingly.

“Sure?’ John asked, not wanting to press, but still a little concerned. Something was going on, he just wasn’t sure if it was good or bad yet. 

Giving Sherlock an encouraging smile, he watched Sherlock took a deep breath, preparing himself.

Wanting to give the detective space to sort out what he was going to say, John took a large bite of his roast chicken, his eyebrows raising at the taste. It was the most tender roast he’d eaten in ages.

“Move in with me?”

John choked, spraying the table with bits of chicken as he coughed. Sherlock’s eyes widened in alarm, and he was halfway around the table by the time their waiter came hustling over. The waiter began vigorously thumping John on the back, while Sherlock hovered, his face carefully blank. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” John wheezed, his eyes streaming. 

Sherlock handed him his water glass and stood at his side, his lips mashed together.

“Are you alright Sir?” the waiter said, his hand still on John’s back. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” John croaked, his face warm with embarrassment. He was all to aware of the stares of all the other diners.

“Some more water for Dr Watson, I think,” Sherlock said, getting rid of the waiter, much to John’s gratitude.

Sherlock took his seat, straightening his jacket primly, while John kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Thankfully, a few moments later the mummer of conversation started up again in the restaurant, and John felt the attention shift away from them.

“Alright John?” Sherlock asked, picking at his food.

“What did you ask me Sherlock?” John said, staring at the detective in shock.

“I- well it’s understandable if you don’t want to. We haven’t been dating that long, i just thought it was-

“Yes.”

Sherlock looked up in shock at John’s smiling face.

“ _ What? _ ” 

“Yes, Sherlock. I’d love to move in with you.” John said, his heart full at the look of cautious joy on Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock blinked at him, his face adorably baffled. God he loved this man.

“I- so you....

“Yes,” John said, propping his chin in his hand, and grinning at Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at John with an uncertain smile on his face. At John’s expression, the smile slowly warmed, until the two of them were grinning at eachother like loons. 

“There’s a second bedroom,” Sherlock said, a sly edge to his smile.

“As if we’ll be needing two.” John scoffed, picking up wine glass.

Sherlock laughed and clinked his own glass John’s, his eyes warm.

***

“John! John wa-

John smothered Sherlock’s words with his mouth as his kissed the detective deeply, bullying him through the door of his- no  _ their-  _ flat. 

Sherlock moaned as John nibbled at his pulse point. His hands were fisted in the fabric at John’s shoulders, as though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push John away or pull him closer. 

“John!”

“Yes gorgeous?” John growled, squeezing Sherlock’s hips.

“I have something to  _ show  _ you!” Sherlock said, yelping as John playfully squeezed his arse. 

“Something to show me eh?” John said, pulling back and taking in Sherlock’s flushed expression.

“Yes John. Go sit on the couch.”

Intrigued John walked over to the couch, sliding out of his jacket on the way.

Smiling slyly, Sherlock toed out of shoes, locked the flat door and strode to the centre of the living room. 

“Do you remember our first case, John?” Sherlock asked, unbuttoning his jacket and slowly sliding out of it.

“Of course I do. The jewelry forgery,” John said, watching in rapt attention as Sherlock slid off waistcoat and carefully draped it over the back of his chair. 

“Yes, well, what I neglected to tell you was that I got a little souvenir from the case.”

“Oh really.” John eyes were riveted to long, pale fingers as they unhooked and unzipped rusty red trousers. 

“Mmmm yes,” 

Sherlock slowly began unbuttoning his shirt and John caught a glimpse of blue gems and gunmetal chains. The body chains, Sherlock was wearing the body chains from their first case. He’d been wearing them underneath his clothes all though dinner. 

John licked his his lips and sat forward as Sherlock slowly parted the panels of his shirt. The jeweled rings that sat around his nipples caught the low light of the flat, and John felt his cock start to harden in his trousers. 

“This is the fake of course, but I sit think it looks good. Do you?” Sherlock said coyly, the silk of his shirt gliding over his arms as it slid to the floor. 

There he stood before John, clad in nothing but chains and jewels. His skin glowed in the dim light of the flat. The chains dripped over Sherlock’s body, sliding between the dips of his muscles and emphasising all the places John was dying to get his tongue. 

Practically ripping his own shirt off, John pounced.

***

Hours later, the chains where dangling off Sherlock’s- no  _ their-  _ bed post. John’s head was pillowed against Sherlock’s chest, and the detective was slowly carding his fingers  through John’s hair as he hummed under his breath. 

“I think I’ll write up the jewelry case. What do you think?” John said, the words out of his mouth before he’d thought it all the way through. 

“It certainly be more interesting than what’s on your blog at the moment.”

“There’s nothing on my blog at the moment,” John said, tipping his chin up to face Sherlock.

“Exactly,” Sherlock said, with a huge yawn, pinching John’s ear gently. 

John smiled, “The duplicitous jeweler? For the title mean.”

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement, his fingers slowing in John’s hair. 

“The love of a father?”

A soft snore answered him. 

John chuckled and pressed a kiss against Sherlock cheek, before lying back on his chest and making himself comfortable. There would be plenty time to pitch title ideas with Sherlock tomorrow, then he could collect his things from his bed sit and move in.

Move in with Sherlock Holmes.

Smiling to himself John Watson fell asleep warm in the arms his Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, commented and left kudos! I'm loveinthemindpalace on tumblr if you want to say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! More to come soon.


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